
Book_j_ 






v. 



ESSAYS 



HENKY THOMAS BUCKLE, 



AUTHOR OP 



'A HISTORY OF CIYILIZATION IN ENGLAND, 



WITH A 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 



ILLUSTRATED WITH A PHOTOGRAPHIC PORTRAIT. 






ISTEW YOEK : 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

443 & 445 BKOADWAY, 
1863. 



LC Control Number 




tmp96 026796 



CONTENTS. 



Biographical Sketch of Henry Thomas Buckle, . 7 

Mill on Liberty, . . . . .39 

The Influence of Women on the Progress of 

Knowledge, . . . . . .165 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 



HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF HENKY 
THOMAS BUCKLE. 

Ij^ the year 1485 there appeared in Flor- 
ence a young man who, from his illustrious 
birth and his natural endowments, would have 
attracted notice in any city, but whom that 
city of academies and home of the learned wel- 
comed w^ith instant wonder and applause. He 
was the most various, if not the most profound, 
scholar of his time. At the age of sixteen he 
ranked among the foremost canonists of Bo- 
logna. In the next six years he had ranged 
through all the circles of ancient and scholastic 
philosophy, and had explored the recesses of 
Jewish Cabbalism. His Latin compositions 
reflected the image of the Augustan age ; his 
Italian verses delighted at once the Court of 
the Medici and the people in the streets. In 
his twenty-third year he propounded at Borne 



O BIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH. 

nine hundred theses or questions, upon every 
one of which he offered to dispute with any 
opponent. In these questions he embraced 
every department of knowledge, as knowledge 
then was — metaphysics and ethics, theology 
and law, magic and mathematics. Of this 
challenge the issue is imperfectly recorded, but 
it at least alarmed the Church, since two Popes 
were constrained to protect the challenger with 
their sacerdotal purple. His projects were 
even more vast than his performances. He 
aimed at reconciling with one another all the 
systems of philosophy, from the days of the 
Athenian Sophists to those of the medieval 
doctors. He aspired to defend Christianity 
against every class of heretics and infidels— 
against the Greek Church on the one hand, 
and the colleges of Cordova and Bagdad on the 
other. He meditated an allegorical commen- 
tary on the Scriptures, and even with greater 
hardihood a scheme that by the force of mere 
syllogisms should compel all men to be of one 
mind in religion. Of labours so unintermitted, 
an early death was almost the inevitable 
result, and Giovanni Pico di Mirandula — c the 
phoenix of his age,' as he was called by his con- 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 

temporaries — was cut off by a fever in his 
thirty-first year. 

With this universal student we are about to 
contrast a modern writer who, w T ithin the last 
few years, has achieved as sudden and nearly as 
extraordinary a reputation. The difference of 
the times in which they wrote is reflected in the 
different character of their works. The objects 
to which the Italian devoted himself comprised 
the learning and science of his time, and 
with that time they have for the most part 
passed away. The studies of the English- 
man, embracing as wide a circle, have in 
them the seeds of greater permanence, inas- 
much as they relate to the perpetual interests 
and not to the transient theories and opin- 
ions of mankind. In these respects these 
accomplished men resembled each other. 
Both of them had conceived the idea of a 
vast, perhaps an impracticable work ; and 
each had scarcely passed its portal when he 
was summoned to rest from his labours. 

Henry Thomas Buckle expired at Damas- 
cus on the last day of May in the present year. 
That they have been born and have died, 
is record enough for the greater portion of 



10 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

mankind; and it is well when the interval 
between birth and death affords no materials 
for censure or compassion. But, in the pres- 
ent instance, a laborious life and lofty aims 
establish a claim to a register of greater 
length. There has passed away from the 
world one of the heroes, if not one of the 
martyrs, of learning. 

The claim is the more remarkable from its 
resting on no public services — unless, indeed, 
we account as such the conception and par- 
tial execution of an arduous and original work 
— on no official distinctions. Mr. Buckle 
was a man who trod in no one of the paths 
which confer early honours, and receive the 
sanction of the world. He was not, like Twed- 
dell or Kirke White, ' the young Lycidas ' of 
a university upon whose bier scholars strewed 
Greek and Latin elegies ; nor, like Shelley, 
a brilliant meteor of the poetical firmament ; 
nor, like Henry Martyn, the pioneer of a 
Church in ' perilous lands forlorn ; ' nor, like 
Francis Horner, a statesman struck down on 
the threshold of a political career. Mr. 
Buckle was no one of these; and yet the 
announcement of his death has cast a shadow 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 11 

upon many who knew him only as an inde- 
fatigable wooer of knowledge, a bold explorer 
in the regions of historical and social science. 

His life, so far as regards the world, was 
uneventful. He was the son of a London 
merchant. He was born at Lee, in Kent, 
November 24th, 1822. He was placed at an 
early age at Gordon-house, Kentish Town, 
where, under the training of Dr. J. T. Hollo- 
way, he rapidly gained distinction. The in- 
stinct for self-education was, however, strong, 
and indeed irresistible, in him. Having 
gained a prize for mathematics, and being 
desired by his parents to name his own ad- 
ditional reward, he claimed the privilege of 
being removed from school, and receiving 
thenceforth his education at home. When he 
made this unusual request, he was in his four- 
teenth year. We have not the means of de- 
termining whether his parents were rash or 
discreet in granting it. Mr. Buckle, however, 
was either dissatisfied with his instructors, or 
resolved to be the sole architect of his own 
mind. His tutors were dismissed ; and he, 
a boy of fourteen years, set forth without a 
pilot upon the sea of knowledge. In about 



12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

four years Lis multifarious studies began to 
converge towards one focus — the intellectual 
progress and civilization of mankind. As 
soon as tlie idea of sucli a work presented 
itself distinctly to him, its fulfilment became 
the object of his life. Twenty years of labour, 
with scarcely an interval of rest, were de- 
voted to it. On this method of study, or the 
merit of his book, we shall express some opin- 
ion presently : the book itself must always be 
regarded as an extraordinary proof of a mind 
at once sanguine and persevering. As he 
rejected the assistance of masters in language 
or science, so he declined following the mer- 
cantile business he might have inherited from 
his father. In the good London merchant, 
who can scarcely be supposed to have watched 
without some misgivings his son's independent 
course, we are reminded of the lenient and 
trustful father of John Milton. He, too, per- 
mitted his studious son, after a university 
career of signal promise, to devote himself to 
' a ceaseless round of study and reading ; ' 
nor did he require him to enter a profession 
by which the cost of his education might be 
reimbursed. Till Milton was over thirty-two 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 13 

years of age, he did not earn a single penny 
for himself, and afterwards he travelled in 
France and Italy, also at the paternal expense, 
for a year and three months. 

From such care for the morrow as would 
have interrupted his daily studies, Mr. Buckle 
was happily released by his father's liberality ; 
and by his death, in 1840, he came into posses- 
sion of a handsome competence, of wealth, 
indeed, to one whose sole expenditure was 
upon books. These gradually lined the walls 
of his upper and low T er chambers, and even 
his out-buildings were turned into libraries. 
If he kept a journal in any degree commensurate 
with his commonplace-books, we may one day 
learn how often he withstood the temptation 
to rush into print : how often he experienced 
the feeling inseparable from the composition 
of a great work, that he was farther from the 
beginning, and still but little nearer the end. It 
is recorded of the first explorers of the Amazon 
and Orinoco, that after voyaging for weeks 
amid the primeval forests and far-stretching 
savannahs that embank these rivers, each time 
that the mighty flood spread itself into some 
gigantic basin or lagoon, the weary and won- 



14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, 

dering adventurers deemed that they had at 
last reached the terminus of the ocean ; nor 
was it until the waters again narrowed their 
course, and ran once more under overshadow- 
ing trees, and with an accelerated current, 
that they discovered their real bourne to be 
still remote. So it is with adventurers on the 
great tributaries of the ocean of knowledge : 
the fountain-heads of the stream lie far beyond 
the eastern horizon ; but the time which marks 
the westering sun still lies far beyond the 
anxious gaze of the voyager. Mr. Buckle, 
1 taking not rest, making not haste,' in the 
year 1857 — that is to say, about twenty years 
after the idea of a History of Human Progress 
in England first dawned upon him — committed 
the result of his steady ten-hours-a-day labour 
to the press, and followed the first volume with 
a second, published in 1861. The former of 
these volumes was at first received with in- 
difference, but it speedily aroused curiosity, 
and next no small degree of indignation and 
alarm. The second was more coolly welcomed 
in England, and deeply resented in Scotland. 
' An author, 5 says Gibbon, speaking of the 
reception of the second and third volumes of 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 15 

the Decline and Fall, c who cannot ascend 
will always appear to sink ; envy was now 
prepared for my reception, and the zeal of my 
religious, was fortified by the motives of my 
political, enemies.' Mr. Buckle had assailed 
more than one order of mankind : the political 
economist and the lawyer have, perhaps, long 
since ceased to resent, but the Scotch are not 
likely to forget, nor are the clergy prone to 
forgive, such an antagonist. 

The former of these volumes has this ex- 
pressive inscription : i To my mother I dedi- 
cate this, the first volume of my first work : ' 
the second is dedicated to her < memory.' 
With many readers the author has doubtless 
passed for a hard man, dealing with men's 
actions and thoughts as with so many links 
in the chain of causation, with the aspects of 
life as the mere products or phenomena of 
Fate or Necessity. In these inscriptions the 
rock is smitten, and the waters of love well 
freely forth. In this excellent mother, were 
centered the writer's affections : to her the 
philosopher became as a little child ; for her 
the soul that dwelt apart, reserved the treas- 
ures of his faith and love. Her death, and, 



16 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

we believe, the harbingers of that death— long 
bodily and mental decay were most painful 
to witness — prostrated her son, already en- 
feebled in body by the unceasing strain of his 
mind. His body he from earliest youth had 
treated as a slave, his mind as a sovereign : 
for the one no sacrifice was too great ; for the 
other, no privations were thought excessive. 
It is in vain to inquire whether the usual 
sports of boyhood, and the manly exercises 
that prevail at our universities, might not have 
corroborated Jiis physical, without any sac- 
rifice of his mental, powers. Labour and sor- 
row had, however, done their work ; and 
leisure and foreign travel came too late to 
relieve his enfeebled forces. 

In this life, uneventful as it was, we have 
a very rare example of devotion to a fixed 
object, dating from a period at which literary 
plans are mostly dreams or 

Like the borealis race, 

That flit ere you can point their place. 

The pages which he gave to the world, as well 
as those which remained to be written, were 
planned by him at a time of life when to 
most men study is irksome ; and even to the 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 17 

few who conquer indolence, is either a means 
to an immediate end, or a stepping-stone to 
wealth or worldly position. With powers 
that might have won for him the highest uni- 
versity honours, he turned aside from that 
near goal, and set before him one which he 
might never reach at all, and which it was 
not destined for him fully to embrace. Kor 
does it lessen the merit of his devotion to 
study, that circumstances relieved him from 
caring too much for the morrow. Competence, 
no less than wealth, is often a hindrance to 
continuous labour. He whose bread is pro- 
vided for him is too apt to say, with Easselas, 
that i the deficiencies of the present day will 
be supplied by the morrow ; ' that he is not 
an athlete to whom every moment is precious. 
But none of these Siren voices had charms 
for the ear of Henry Thomas Buckle : and he 
steered by the fatal island where so much 
of youth — ' Youth on the prow and Pleasure 
at the helm' — has wrecked the hopes of life. 
In more than one memorable passage Cicero 
has put on record his own early diligence ; 
and we still read with pleasure the honest 
pride with which he recounts how he i scorned 



18 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

delights, and lived laborious days'— liow he, 
a novus homo, raised himself to the ivory chair 
of high-born Fabii and Manlii. Many records, 
also, have we of men to whom to study was 
to be happy — by whom a day spent in what 
Ben Jonson calls ' the cold business of life ' — 
its ceremonies, holidays, and amusements — 
was reckoned a day lost. Isaac Casaubon's 
Ephemerides are full of lamentations for hours 
wasted on friends, kinsfolk, and acquaintance, 
instead of being turned to profit on Athenseus 
or Polybius. Adrien Baillet destroyed by 
intemperance in study the frail body that 
nature had bestowed on him. Robert Southey 
set a noble example to all who adopt the vo- 
cation of the scholar : the days of Immanuel 
Kant certified to each other of the duties and 
pleasures of the philosopher ; and the elder 
Pliny, both by his life and death, merited a 
name among the martyrs of science. But 
none of these earnest students surpassed Mr. 
Buckle in firmness of purpose or diligence in 
business. He discerned, or at least he im- 
agined, that a great void in the history of 
human progress awaited the filiing-up : and 
however opinions may vary upon his fitness 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 19 

for his self-imposed task, there can be Mio 
question of the ardour and sincerity he brought 
to its performance. 

His recluse life entailed upon his writings 
some serious disadvantages. The ingenuous 
arts are not more effectual in softening men's 
manners than intercourse with society. If 
from his ' study ' he did not ' rail at human 
kind,' he formed, from his long commerce with 
books alone, harsh and one-sided opinions of 
classes, that earlier and more free intermixture 
with them would have softened or corrected. 
Of the clergy he saw only one, and that not 
the more favourable side. He regarded them 
as writers or preachers alone, and not as active 
and humanizing elements in society. He is 
right in ascribing to dogmatic theology, dark, 
cruel, ignorant and groundless theories, alike 
at variance with a divine Author and dishon- 
ourable to human nature. He is wrong when 
he represents the orator in the pulpit, or the 
scholar in the closet, as hard, bigoted, and 
severe as his doctrines. In the Confessions of 
Augustine we have the outpourings of a large 
and liberal heart : in his writings on Fate, 
Free Will, and Fore-knowledge, he appears 



20 EIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH. 

only as the durus pater infantium, the pre- 
cursor of the implacable and gloomy Calvin. 
That the nature of Luther was more harmo- 
niously toned with nature and man than the 
nature of Erasmus, their writings do not per- 
mit us to doubt : but when Luther puts forth 
on the dark sea of theological speculation, he 
becomes, like his Genevan rival and contem- 
porary, stern, acrid, and rancorous. The most 
earnest and tender of philanthropists, a Penn 
or a Howard, was not more deeply imbued 
with the love of mankind, than were Richard 
Hooker and Jeremy Taylor : yet it would not 
be difficult to extract from their books pas- 
sages that, taken apart from the context, are 
equally shocking to our reason and affections. 
The extracts from the Scotch divines that fill 
so large a space in the notes of Mr. Buckleys 
second volume, are atrocious enough to prove 
that Torquemada and St. Dominic were not 
better disposed to rack and burn their fellow 
men, than were the Gillespies, the Guthries, 
the Haly burtons, and the Eutherfords, on some 
of whom Milton had already fixed the brand 
that ' new presbyter is but old priest writ 
large. 5 Yet, perhaps, many of these fiery 



BIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH. 21 

tongues belonged to men abounding with active 
charities and sympathies, and illustrating by 
their lives the doctrines of peace and good 
will. Again, in his strictures on national 
character, Mr. Buckle employs an intellectual 
standard only. The moral compensations for 
imperfect knowledge and progress, he ignores 
or overlooks. His eye, directed to scientific 
progress alone, saw not many fertile spots that 
relieve even the barrenness between Dan and 
Beersheba. 

On various occasions, Mr. Buckle de- 
nounced the effects of seclusion and separation 
from human interests upon the monastic orders 
and the priesthood generally. He uncon- 
sciously partook of the mischief which he de- 
nounced. More acquaintance with practical 
life would have softened his asperities, and 
saved him from some hasty conclusions and 
even grave errors. One effect, indeed, of iso- 
lation which appears in the studious and soli- 
tary Benedictines, did not manifest itself in 
him. His heart was not closed nor narrowed 
to the great interests of his kind. He may 
have weighed classes of them in an ill-adjusted 
balance, but to the progress of men in what- 



22 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

soever delivers tlie human race from bondage 
to idols of the market, of the temple, or the 
tribe, he was never indifferent. In the cause 
of what he believed to be civilization, his en- 
ergy was unflagging, his sympathy intense. 
Of the plan and execution of his History we 
are not in a condition to speak ; we have por- 
tions only of the Introduction to it. Much 
that in the Prolegomena is incomplete or in- 
accurate, crude or rash, would probably, after 
maturer experience and enlarged insight, have 
been supplied or corrected in the historical 
sequel. The following remarks accordingly 
have reference to the fragment alone of his 
scheme. 

First, the subject to which he devoted his 
life is vague. The term Civilization has a 
specious sound and a noble bearing ; but ob- 
jections to it instantly present themselves 
when we begin to ask its precise import. 
Can a History of Civilization, even in any one 
country, France or England, be comprised, 
like the Esprit * des Lois or the Politics of 
Aristotle, within scientific limits ? Does the 
term admit of definition ? Is it, in fact, more 
than a generality, coming under the legal ban 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH* 23 

of ' Totus in omnibus nulliis in singulis* f One 
writer on such a theme might choose to 
regard civilization as the greatest happiness 
of the greatest number — that is, sufficient beef, 
pudding, shelter, and wages ; another might 
allege that man, not living by bread alone, 
requires, before he is civilized, a church es- 
tablishment in prime condition ; a third will 
say that neither the labour-market nor the 
meat-market, nor deans and chapters, and lawn 
sleeves alone make men happy and keep them 
so ; but that this boon must be expected from 
free trade, universal suffrage, and lightness 
of taxation. Jean Jacque sends us back to 
the time 

When wild in woods the noble savage ran ; 
and William Penn and John Bright look for- 
ward to the day when none shall refuse their 
cheek to the smiter. 

Again, conceding for the moment, that the 
term civilization is sufficiently intelligible, if 
not very precise, Mr. Buckle's manner of 
handling the subject is somewhat capricious 
and irregular. In history, we expect that the 
events recorded shall follow one another in 
the order of time, or if they depart from it 



2i BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

and assume the order of space, that there shall 
be good reason for moving on parallel in- 
stead of direct lines. Gibbon was justified in 
leaving the main course of his narrative for 
such episodes as his chapters on the Northern 
nations, on the Monastic orders, or the rise 
and progress of Mohammedanism ; since the 
assaults of barbarians, the withdrawing from 
active life of so many thousands of able- 
bodied men, and the birth of a new and 
aggressive faith, were so many combined 
and collateral elements of the decline and fall 
of Rome. Montesquieu, again, was warranted 
in passing from China to Peru in search of 
analogies with the laws .of Europe, or of ex- 
amples of institutions unknown or alien to 
the western world. But the civilization of a 
single country does not admit of so devious a 
course. We require to have placed before 
us in their known succession each wave of the 
civilizing stream, to have marked out for us 
the effects of its spring and neap tides, and 
the several deposits which remain after the 
flood has subsided. Possibly- — indeed most 
probably — this defect, in the Introduction 
would have been corrected in the work to 



EIOGEAPHICAL SKETCH. 25 

which the two volumes before are merely the 
porch ; but even the porch is irregularly built. 
Its foundation-stones are properly the universal 
questions of the food, climate, and physical 
circumstances that have attracted men to 
certain centres, or propelled them from those 
centres, or affected by various causes — abun- 
dance, privation, the possession -of ease, or the 
necessity for toil — their forms of government 
and their habits of life. When, however, we 
expect to pass from the incunahula of society 
to its earlier phases, we are suddenly trans- 
ported to the history or the preliminaries of 
the English Revolution of 1640, and the 
French Revolution of 1789 — crises in history, 
indeed, which mark beyond any others a new 
birth in each of the respective nations, but 
which belong to advanced and not to incepting 
civilization. These objections, however, apply 
to the first volume especially ; the second, 
being devoted to two opposite phases of 
religion, although, as regards a History of 
Civilization, its topics are somewhat prema- 
ture, is the more coherent of the two, both in 
respect of its premises and its conclusions. 
The second volume is, in fact, little more than 
2 



2G BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

an episode of the first ; with a few inconsid- 
erable changes, it might have stood alone as 
a record of the effects of perverted religion 
in Spain or Scotland. The discrepancies and 
inconveniences attendant on the vagueness of ' 
the term civilization might, in our opinion, 
have been avoided, had the work been en- 
titled a ' History of the Aspects of Society in 
England.' There would then 'have been no 
previous question about the import of a title 
sufficiently elastic to include the era when 
Britons painted their bodies with woad, and 
the era when they assumed trousers and pale- 
tots. The presentation of such aspects might 
have shifted without detriment to the work 
or inconvenience to the readers of it from 
direct to parallel lines, wiile the progress 
of civilization might have been traced or im- 
plied with equal, if not superior effect. The 
great bases of civilization — religion, law, 
commerce, arts and learning, with their sev- 
eral products and phenomena, and their mu- 
tual co-operation and counteraction — might 
have been exhibited in a series of osculating 
or concentric circles, while the laws of their 
generation or connexion would have appro- 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 27 

priately formed, in Mr. Buckle's hands — and 
none were more able to supply it — a superb 
peroration. 

From what appear to us defects in the 
structure, we turn with pleasure to the sterling 
merits of the History of Civilization. As to its 
language, too much praise can hardly be award- 
ed to it. It is equal to the subject, precise 
enough for the demands of science, full, flow- 
ing, and flexible enough for every purpose of 
eloquence. Lucid, when the business of the 
writer is to state, explain, or illustrate, it as- 
cends, when anger at the oppressor or sympathy 
with the oppressed calls upon it, to notes worthy 
of Edmund Burke himself, denouncing the 
corruptions of England or the wrongs of India. 
Isor was such facility or such strength attained 
by a long apprenticeship in writing. Until 1857, 
when the first of these volumes was published, 
we believe that Mr. Buckle had not printed a 
line ; nor, with the exception of a lecture de- 
livered at the Royal Institution in March, 1858, 
and an essay or two in Fraser's Magazine, did he 
permit fugitive literature to interfere with the 
great task he had in hand His was the rare 
art of making immense reading subservient to 



28 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

general instruction. The abundance of his 
materials neither perplexed nor burdened him ; 
the accumulated thoughts of others abated no 
jot from the freshness of his own. No sources 
of information were too mean, devious, or 
recondite for his searching gaze. His com- 
mand of ancient and modern languages, his 
bibliographical knowledge, were not less re- 
markable than Gibbon's or Southey's. Like 
theirs, his commonplace-books were well- 
ordered arsenals which yielded without stint 
or confusion the weapons and munitions re- 
quired by him. 

Of the duties and the province of the his- 
torian, he formed a conception most difficult, 
perhaps impossible, to realize ; but it was no- 
ble in itself, and honourable to him. He per- 
ceived that history in its best forms is but an 
imperfect record of the thoughts and deeds of 
men. The writers of it, even those w r hose 
works are possessions for ever, select some 
particular crisis, or some exceptional phase : a 
great war, a single revolution, a long series of 
national events, or periods of time in which 
long hostile or distant streams of action are 
forcibly or spontaneously diverted into a com- 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 29 

mon channel. Of all narratives, none equal in 
tlieir comprehensive character those of Herod- 
otus and Gibbon. The one opens with that 
cycle of events which committed together for 
centuries of strife "Western Asia and Eastern 
Europe. The other begins with the breaking 
up of an empire which had slowly conquered 
and long held together with links of iron the 
civilized world. With Gyrus commences that 
fusion of the hill tribes with the dwellers in 
the plains that ended in the construction of 
the Great King's empire, ' a mighty maze ' 
of satrapies, each one in its dimensions a 
kingdom, l but not without a plan.' Then 
was put in act what was foreshadowed in the 
ten-years' siege of Troy, that mighty duel of 
opposing continents which was not destined 
to end before Home asserted at Actium the 
predominance of Europe over Asia. The roll- 
ing together and condensing of races by Cyrus 
is one terminus of the series, the great Actian 
triumph was the other. With Commodus, on 
the other hand, the curtain of history rises on 
the drama of dismemberment, and proceeds 
from act to act, until an unarmed priest fills the 
throne of the western Caesars, and an infidel 



80 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

rides unchallenged through the Hippodrome of 
Constantinople, or profanes the great church 
in which Basil and Chrysostom preached. 
The latter is Gibbon's cycle, the former that 
of Herodotus and of those who continued his 
record of three of the empires of prophetic vision. 

But in these and in other narratives cer- 
tain elements are wanting, and Mr. Buckle, 
though not the first to perceive the defect, 
was among the first who attempted to supply 
it. War and peace, law and religion, forms 
of government, art, literature, and manners, 
are merely phenomena of national life, and 
presuppose the existence of laws which actuate 
and of conditions which shape and control 
them. It w r as Mr. Buckle's object to collect 
and place these phenomena upon a scientific 
basis, to discover the law of their growth, pro- 
gress, and decline, to show why on some soils 
they withered, why on others they bore fruit 
an hundred-fold. How far he failed or how 
far he succeeded in his attempt to construct a 
science of history, w r e do not pretend to de- 
termine : we are merely pointing to the. high 
and arduous object he set before himself. 

Secondly, he sinned the sin of excessive 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 31 

generalization. It may be true that in certain 
cycles or shorter periods of time the sums of 
human acts are strangely alike. It may be 
true also that statistics afford to history one 
of its most sure and instructive auxiliaries. 
But it is no less certain that such tabular 
records are not only in their infancy, but as 
regards former times, either do not exist, or 
are most scanty and precarious aids to truth. 
At the best, also, they represent a few only 
of the elements of social life, and probably 
centuries of exact observation must elapse 
before they can be permitted to supersede 
the other grounds, moral, intellectual, and 
religious, on which history hitherto has been 
constructed. In his anxiety, if not indeed his 
determination, to find a comprehensive idea, 
Mr. Buckle often strains, if he does not mis* 
represent facts. He is too prone to assume 
that men under similar circumstances will be 
similar themselves, and leaves scarcely a mar- 
gin for the disturbances of passion, custom, or 
accident. Comets are tolerably regular in 
their paths ; but Wharton's are far from being 
plain in their motives or actions ; and if 
fashion be very potent, and 



32 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

Lucullus, when frugality could charm, 
Had roasted turnips on his Sabine farm, 

yet it is unsafe to compute how many Lucul- 
luses are due at one period, or whether ' adust 
complexion ' or other causes invariably compel 

Charles to the convent, Philip to the field. 

We might proceed to specify other instan- 
ces in which the wide grasp of Mr. Buckle's 
theory defeats its own purpose, and leaves us 
disposed rather to abide by imperfect light 
than to follow a possible meteor. But we 
must abstain from comment on its merits and 
defects alike, and hasten to the conclusion. 
"We cannot, however, entirely omit mentioning 
Mr. Buckle's conversational qualities. He 
was not a sayer of smart or brilliant things : 
indeed, wit and humour w r ere not among his 
gifts. He w r as no granter of propositions ; nor 
had his conversations been reported, would 
his periods have been found to flow into the 
smooth and regular moulds of the late Lord 
Macaulay's social discourse. His voice w r as 
unmusical and his manner rather defiant. But 
one could not be five minutes in a room w T ith 
him without being aware that a talker unusually 



BIOGPwAPHICAL SKETCH. 33 

informed with book knowledge was present. 
From the news of the morning to the most 
recondite and curious recesses of learning, Mr. 
Buckle ranged freely ; the topics of the day 
furnishing him with a wide round of illustra- 
tion and analogy, and not unfrequently with 
hardy speculations on the future. As, how- 
ever, he mixed more with his fellow men, the 
current of his conversation considerably abated 
in its volume. He grew more willing to listen, 
less disposed to controversy or to monologue. 
The softening effect of increased intercourse 
with society, as it appeared in his conversation, 
so would very probably have gradually in- 
fluenced the dogmatic and paradoxical tone of 
his writings. 

That the History of Civilization in England 
should have excited some angry surprises, if not 
a deep feeling of indignation, in many quarters, 
it was natural to expect. The doctrines of 
Auguste Comte are not palatable on this side 
of the Channel ; and although Mr. Buckle ac- 
cepted M. Comte's creed with reservation, he 
is indebted to it for some of his theories. He 
thus ran counter to an order of men not in- 
disposed to quarrel among themselves, as the 
9* 



34 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH* 

Court of Arches can at this moment testify, but 
which, as soon as its conventional opinions are 
attacked, forms a compact phalanx for its 
corporate defence. ' The Highlanders, 5 says 
Baillie Jarvie, ' may give each other an ill 
name and even a slash with a elavmore, but in 
the end they are sure to join against all cee- 
velised persons who have money in their purses 
and breeks on their hinder ends.' Equally 
sure were Mr. Buckle's strictures on the Kirk 
and Predestination to draw down upon him the 
wrath of North Britain. Hero-worshippers, 
again, have no reason to be pleased with his 
speculations, since he resolves the course of his- 
tory into cycles and a system, and ascribes 
but little permanent influence to individual 
soldiers, statesmen, or saints. Gibbon nettled 
the ecclesiastical body more by his inuendoes 
than by his direct imputations. Mr. Buckle 
fights against it, not with the foil of irony, but 
with the whole armoury of distrust and de- 
fiance. Some of the castigation he got, he mer- 
ited : for some of his charges were ill considered 
and unfounded ; but these, the faults of seclu- 
sion and inexperience, do not, in the main, affect 
his assertion, that no class of men is fit to be 



/* h&t ]0^H^ kf % 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 35 

entrusted with irresponsible power, and of all 
classes, the clergy least. 

This, however, is not the place, even did 
our limits allow of it, for analysing Mr. Buckle's 
work. That has been done by other hands at 
a more convenient season. We have sought, 
in this slight sketch of him, to delineate the 
author, and not his book. That the latter will 
remain a fragment is probable — neither the 
man nor the circumstances which favoured or 
hindered it are likely soon to recur. ' Dat 
Galenus opes, dat Justinianus honores : ' we 
are not likely again to see so much learning 
and ability employed upon themes which re- 
munerate the student with neither present profit 
nor honour. Be what they may the faults of 
the book, the merits of the author are sterling. 
He sought knowledge for its own sake : for 
knowledge he gave up his youth, his talents, 
his fortune, and possibly his life. Truisms did 
not deter, nor shadows intimidate him ; what- 
ever, in his judgment, had hitherto retarded, or 
was likely to retard in future, the progress of 
men, he denounced ; whatever, in his opinion, 
was likely to accelerate or secure it, he ad- 
vocated. If we cannot inscribe it on the roll 



36 BIOGEAPHICAL SKETCH. 

of historians or philosophers of the highest 
order, yet the name of Henry Thomas Buckle 
merits a high place on, the list of earnest seek- 
ers for Truth. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 



MILL ON LIBERTY.* 

If a jury of the greatest European thinkers 
were to be impannelled, and were directed to 
declare by their verdict who, among our living 
writers, had done most for the advance of knowl- 
edge, they could hardly hesitate in pronouncing 
the name of John Stuart Mill. Nor can we 
doubt that posterity would ratify their decision. 
No other man has dealt with so many problems 
of equal importance, and yet of equal complex- 
ity. The questions which he has investigated, 
concern, on the one hand, the practical interests 
of every member of society, and, on the other 
hand, the subtlest and most hidden operations 
of the human mind. Although he touches the 
surface, he also penetrates the centre. Between 

* On Liberty. By John Stuart Mill. London : John W. 
Parker and Son, West Strand. 1859. 



40 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

those extremes, lie innumerable subjects which, 
he has explored, always with great ability, often 
with signal success. On these topics, whether 
practical or speculative, his authority is con- 
stantly evoked ; and his conclusions are adopted 
by many who are unable to follow the argu- 
ments by which the conclusions are justified. 
Other men we have, remarkable for their depth 
of thought ; and others again who are remark- 
able for the utility of their suggestions. But 
the peculiarity of Mr. Mill is, that both these 
qualities are more effectively combined by him 
than by any one else of the present day. Hence 
it is, that he is as skilful in tracing the opera- 
tion of general causes, as in foreseeing the re- 
sult of particular measures. And hence, too, his 
influence is far greater than would otherwise 
be possible ; since he not only appeals to a 
Avider range of interests than any living writer 
can do, but by his mastery over special and 
practical details, he is able to show that 
principles, however refined they appear, and 
however far removed from ordinary appre- 
hension, may be enforced, without so danger- 
ous a disturbance of social arrangements, and 
without so great a sacrifice of existing insti- 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 41 

tutions, as might at first siglit be supposed. 
By this means he has often disarmed hostility, 
and has induced practical men to accept con- 
clusions on practical grounds, to which no 
force of scientific argument, and no amount of 
scientific proof would have persuaded them to 
yield. Securing by one process the assent of 
speculative thinkers, and securing by another 
process the assent of working politicians, he 
operates on the two extremes of life, and ex- 
hibits the singular spectacle of one of the most 
daring and original philosophers in Europe, 
winning the applause of not a few mere legis- 
lators and statesmen who are indifferent to 
his higher generalizations, and who, confining 
themselves to their own craft, are incapable 
of soaring beyond the safe and limited routine 
of ordinary experience. 

This has increased his influence in more 
ways than one. For, it is extremely rare to 
meet with a man who excels both in practice 
and in speculation ; and it is by no means 
common to meet with one who desires to do 
so. Between these two forms of excellence, 
there is not only a difference, there is also an 
opposition. Practice aims* at what is imme- 



42 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

cliate ; speculation at. what is remote. The 
first investigates small and special causes ; 
the other investigates large and general causes. 
In practical life, the wisest and soundest men 
avoid speculation, and ensure success because 
by limiting their range, they increase the 
tenacity with which they grasp events ; while 
in speculative lifo the course is exactly the 
reverse, since in that department the greater 
the range the greater the command, and the 
object of the philosopher is to have as large 
a generalization as possible ; in other words, 
to rise as high as he can above the phenomena 
with which he is concerned. The truth I 
apprehend to be that the immediate effect of 
any act is usually determined by causes peculiar 
to that act, and which, as it were, lie within 
it ; while the remote effect of the same act is 
governed by causes lying out of the act ; that 
is, by the general condition of the surrounding 
circumstances. Special causes produce their 
effect quickly ; but to bring general causes 
into play, we require not only width, of sur- 
face but also length of time. If, for instance, 
a man living under a cruel despotism were to 
inflict a- fatal blow upon the despot, the im- 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 43 

mediate result — namely, the death of the 
tyrant — would be caused solely by circum- 
stances peculiar to the action, such as the 
sharpness of the weapon, the precision of the 
aim, and the part that was wounded. But 
the remote result — that is, the removal, not 
of the despot but of the despotism— would be 
governed by circumstances external to the 
particular act, and would depend upon whether 
or not the country was fit for liberty, since if 
the country were unfit, another despot would 
be sure to arise, and another despotism be 
established. To a philosophic mind the actions 
of an individual count for little ; to a practical 
mind they are everything. Whoever is ac- 
customed to generalize, smiles within himself 
when he hears that Luther brought about the 
Reformation ; that Bacon overthrew the an- 
cient philosophy ; that William III. saved our 
liberties ; that Rornilly humanized our penal 
code ; that Clarkson and Wilberforce destroyed 
slavery ; and that Grey and Brougham gave 
us Reform. He smiles at such assertions, 
because he knows full well that such men, 
useful as they were, are only to be regarded 
as tools by which that work was clone, which 



44 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

the force and accumulation of preceding cir- 
cumstances had determined should he done. 
They were good instruments ; sharp and ser- 
viceable instruments, but nothing more. Not 
only are individuals, in the great average of 
affairs, inoperative for good ; they are also, 
happily for mankind, inoperative for evil. 
Nero and Domitian caused enormous mischief, 
but every trace of it has now disappeared. 
The occurrences which contemporaries think 
to be of the greatest importance, and which 
in point of fact, for a short time are so, in- 
variably turn out in the long run to be the 
least important of all. They are like meteors 
which dazzle the vulgar by their brilliancy, 
and then pass away, leaving no mark behind. 
Well, therefore, and in the highest spirit of 
philosophy, did Montesquieu say that the 
Roman Republic was overthrown, not, as is 
commonly supposed, by the ambition of Csesar 
and Pompey, but by that state of things 
w T hich made the success of their ambition pos- 
sible. And so indeed it was. Events which 
had been long accumulating and had come 
from afar, pressed on and thickened until their 
united force was irresistible, and the Republic 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 45 

grew ripe for destruction. It decayed, it tot- 
tered, it was sapped to its foundation ; and 
then, when all was ready, and it was nod- 
ding to its fall, Csesar and Pompey stepped 
forward, and because they dealt the last blow, 
we, forsooth, are expected to believe that they 
produced a catastrophe which the course of 
affairs had made inevitable before they were 
born. 

The great majority of men will, however, 
always cling to Csesar and Pompey ; that is 
to say, they will prefer the study of proximate 
causes to the study of remote ones. This is 
connected with another and more fundamen- 
tal distinction, by virtue of which, life is re- 
garded by practical minds as an art, by spec- 
ulative minds as a science. And we find 
every civilized nation divided into two classes 
corresponding with these two divisions. "We 
find one class investigating affairs with a view 
to what is most special ; the other investi- 
gating them with a view to what is most gen- 
eral. This antagonism is essential, and lies 
in the nature of things. Indeed, it is so clearly 
marked, that except in minds not only of very 
great power, but of a peculiar kind of power, 



46 MILL ON L1BEKTY. 

it is impossible to reconcile the two methods ; 
it is impossible for any but a most remarkable 
man to have them both. Many even of the 
greatest thinkers have been but too notorious 
for an ignorance of ordinary affairs, and for 
an inattention to practical every-day interests. 
While studying the science of life, they neglect 
the art of living. This is because such men, 
notwithstanding their genius, are essentially 
one-sided and narrow, being, unhappily for 
themselves, unable or unaccustomed to note 
the operation of special and proximate causes. 
Dealing with the remote and the universal, 
they omit the immediate and the contingent. 
They sacrifice the actual to the ideal. To 
their view, all phenomena are suggestive of 
science, that is of what may be known ; while 
to the opposite view, the same phenomena are 
suggestive of art, that is of what may be done. 
A perfect intellect would unite both views, 
and assign to each its relative importance ; 
but such a feat is of the greatest possible 
rarity. It may in fact be doubted if more than 
one instance is recorded of its being performed 
without a single failure. That instance, I 
need hardly say, is Shakspeare. ISTo other 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 47 

mind lias thoroughly interwoven the remote 
with the proximate, the general with the 
special, the abstract with the concrete. No 
other mind has so completely incorporated 
the speculations of the highest philosophy with 
the meanest details of the lowest life. Shak- 
speare mastered both extremes, and covered 
all the intermediate field. He knew both 
man and men. He thought as deeply as Plato 
or Kant. He observed as closely as Dickens 
or Thackeray. 

Of whom else can this be said? Other 
philosophers have, for the most part, over- 
looked the surface in their haste to reach the 
summit. Hence the anomaly of many of the 
most profound thinkers having been ignorant 
of what it was shameful for them not to know, 
and having been unable to manage with suc- 
cess even their own affairs. The sort of advice 
they would give to others may be easily im- 
agined. It is no exaggeration to say that if, 
in any age of the world, one half of the sug- 
gestions made by the ablest men had been 
adopted, that age would Lave been thrown into 
the rankest confusion. Plato was the deepest 
thinker of antiquity ; and yet the proposals 



48 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

which he makes in his Republic, and in his 
Treatise on Laws, are so absurd that they can 
hardly he read without laughter, Aristotle, 
little inferior to Plato in depth, and much his 
superior in comprehensiveness, desired, on 
purely speculative grounds, that no one should 
give or receive interest for the use of money : 
an idea, which, if it had been put into exe- 
cution, would have produced the most mis- 
chievous results, would have stopped the ac- 
cumulation of wealth, and thereby have post- 
poned for an indefinite period the civilization 
of the world. In modern as well as in ancient 
times, systems of philosophy have been raised 
which involve assumptions, and seek to compel 
consequences, incompatible with the practical 
interests of society. The Germans are the 
most profound philosophers in Europe, and it 
is precisely in their country that this tendency 
is most apparent. Comte, the most compre- 
hensive thinker France has produced since 
Descartes, did in his last work deliberately 
advocate, and wish to organize, a scheme of 
polity so monstrously and obviously impracti- 
cable, that if it were translated into English, 
the plain men of our island would lift their 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 49 

eyes in astonishment, and would most likely 
suggest that the author should for his own sake 
be immediately confined. Not that we need 
pride ourselves too much on these matters. 
If a catalogue were to be drawn up of the 
practical suggestions made by our greatest 
thinkers, it would be impossible to conceive 
a document more damaging to the reputation 
of the speculative classes. Those classes are j 
always before the age in their theories, and \ 
behind the age in their practice. It is not, 
therefore, strange that Frederick the Great, 
who perhaps had a more intimate and personal 
knowledge of them than any other prince 
equally powerful, and who moreover admired 
them, courted them, and, as an author, to a 
certain slight degree belonged to them, should 
have recorded his opinion of their practical 
incapacity in the strongest terms he could find. 
i If, 7 he is reported to have said, ' if I wanted 
to ruin one of my provinces, I would make 
over its government to the philosophers.' 

This neglect of the surface of things is, 
moreover, exhibited in the peculiar absence 
of mind for which many philosophers have 
been remarkable. Newton was so oblivious 



50 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

of what was actually passing, that he fre- 
quently overlooked or forgot the most neces- 
sary transactions, was not sure whether he 
had dined, and would leave his own house 
half naked, appearing in that state in the streets, 
because he fancied all the while that he was 
fully dressed. Many admire this as the sim- 
plicity of genius. I see nothing in it but an 
unhappy and calamitous principle of the con- 
struction of the human mind, which prevents 
nearly all men from successfully dealing both 
with the remote and the immediate. They 
who are little occupied with either, may, by 
virtue of the smallness of their ambition, some- 
what succeed in both. This is the reward of 
their mediocrity, and they may well be sat- 
isfied with it. Dividing such energy as they 
possess, they unite a little speculation with a 
little business ; a little science w T ith a little 
art. But in the most eminent and vigorous 
characters, we find, with extremely rare ex- 
ceptions, that excellence on one side excludes 
excellence on the other. Here the perfection 
of theory, there the perfection of practice ; and 
between the two a gulf which few indeed can 
bridge. Another and still more remarkable 



MILL Otf LIBERTY. 51 

instance of this unfortunate peculiarity of our 
nature is supplied by the career of Bacon, who, 
though he boasted that he made philosophy 
practical and forced her to dwell among men, 
was himself so unpractical that he could not 
deal with events as they successively arose. 
Yet, he had everything in his favour. To 
genius of the highest order he added eloquence, 
wit, and industry. He had good connexions, 
influential friends, a supple address, an ob- 
sequious and somewhat fawning disposition. 
He had seen life under many aspects, he had 
mixed with various classes, he had abundant 
experience, and still he was unable to turn 
these treasures to practical account. Putting 
him aside as a philosopher, and taking him 
merely as a man of action, his conduct was a 
series of blunders. Whatever he most desired, 
in that did he most fail. One of his darling 
objects was the attainment of popularity, in 
the pursuit of which he, on two memorable 
occasions, grievously offended the Court from 
which he sought promotion. So unskilful, 
however, were his combinations, that in the 
prosecution of Essex, which w$s by far the 
most unpopular act in the reign of Elizabeth, he 



52 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

played a part not only conspicuous and dis- 
creditable, but grossly impolitic. Essex, who 
was a high-spirited and generous man, was be- 
loved by all classes, and nothing could be more 
certain than that the violence Bacon displayed 
against him would recoil on its author. It 
was also well known that Essex was the 
intimate friend of Bacon, had exerted himself 
in every way for him, and had even presented 
him. with a valuable estate. For a man to 
prosecute his benefactor, to heap invectives 
upon him at his trial, and having hunted him 
to the death, publish a libel insulting his 
memory, was a folly as well as an outrage, 
and is one of many proofs that in practical 
matters the judgment of Bacon was unsound. 
Ingratitude aggravated by cruelty must, if it 
is generally known, always be a blunder as 
well as a crime, because it wounds the deepest 
and most universal feelings of our common 
nature. However vicious a man may be, 
he will never be guilty of such an act unless 
he is foolish as well as vicious. But the 
philosopher could not foresee those immediate 
consequences -which a plain man would have 
easily discerned. The truth is, that while the 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 53 

speculations of Bacon were full of wisdom, 
liis acts were full of folly. He was anxious to 
build up a fortune, and he did what many 
persons have done both before and since : he 
availed himself of his judicial position to take 
bribes from suitors in his court. But here, 
again, his operations were so clumsy, that 
he committed the enormous oversight of ac- 
cepting bribes from men against whom he 
afterwards decided. He, therefore, deliber- 
ately put himself in the power of those whom 
he deliberately injured. This was not only 
because he was greedy after wealth, but also 
because he was injudiciously greedy. The 
error was in the head as much as in the heart. 
Besides being a corrupt judge, he was like- 
wise a bad calculator. The consequence was 
that he was detected, and being detected, was 
ruined. "When his fame was at its height, 
when enjoyments of every kind were thicken- 
ing and clustering round him, the cup of 
pleasure was dashed from his lips because he 
quaffed it too eagerly. To say that he fell 
merely because he was unprincipled, is pre- 
posterous, for many men are unprincipled all 
their lives and never fall at all. Why it is that 



54 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

bad men sometimes flourish, and how sucli 
apparent injustice is remedied, is a mysterious 
question which this is not the place for dis- 
cussing ; but the fact is indubitable. In 
practical life men fail, partly because they aim 
at unwise objects, but chiefly because they have 
not acquired the art of adapting their means 
to their end. This was the case with Bacon. 
In ordinary matters he was triumphed over 
and defeated by nearly every one with whom 
he came into contact. His dependents cheated 
him With impunity ; and notwithstanding the 
large sums he received, he was constantly in 
debt, so that even while his peculations were 
going on, he derived little benefit from them. 
Though, as a judge, he stole the property of 
others, he did not know how to steal so as to 
escape detection, and he did not know how to 
keep what he had stolen. The mighty thinker 
was, in practice, an arrant trifler. He always 
neglected the immediate and the pressing. 
This was curiously exemplified in the last 
scene of his life. In some of his generalizations 
respecting putrefaction, it occurred to him that 
the process might be stopped by snow. He 
arrived at conclusions like a cautious and 



MILL ON LIBEETY. 55 

large-minded philosopher : he tried them with 
the rashness and precipitancy of a child. "With 
an absence of common sense which would be 
incredible if it were not well attested, he 
rushed out of his coach on a very cold day, 
and neglecting every precaution, stood shiver- 
ing in the air while he stuffed a fowl with 
snow, risking a life invaluable to mankind, for 
the sake of doing what any serving man could 
have done just as well. It did not need the 
intellect of a Bacon to foresee the result. 
Before he had finished what he w T as about, 
he felt suddenly chilled : he became so ill as 
to be unable to return to his own house, 
and his worn-out frame giving way, he gradu- 
ally sank and died a week after his first 
seizure. 

Such events are very sad, but they are also 
very instructive. Some, I know, class them 
under the head of martyrdom for science : to 
me they seem the penalty of folly. It is at all 
events certain that in the lives of great thinkers 
they are painfully abundant. It is but too 
true that many men of the highest power have, 
by neglecting the study of proximate causes, 
shortened their career, diminished their useful- 



56 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

ness, and, .bringing themselves to a premature 
old age, have deprived mankind of their 
services just at the time when their experience 
was most advanced, and their intellect most 
matured. Others, again, who have stopped 
short of this, have by their own imprudence 
become involved in embarrassments of every 
kind, taking no heed of the morrow, wasting 
their resources, squandering their substance, 
and incurring debts which they were unable 
to pay. This is the result less of vice than of 
thoughtlessness. Yice is often cunning and 
wary ; but thoughtlessness is always profuse 
and reckless. And so marked is the tendency, 
that ' Genius struggling with difficulties ' has 
grown into a proverb. Unhappily, genius has, 
in an immense majority of cases, created its 
own difficulties. The consequence is, that 
not only mere men of the world, but men of 
sound, useful understandings, do, for the most 
part, look upon genius as some strange and 
erratic quality, beautiful indeed to see, but 
dangerous to possess : a sparkling fire which 
consumes while it lightens. They regard it 
with curiosity, perhaps even with interest ; 
but they shake their heads ; they regret that 



MILL OK LIBERTY. 57 

men who are so clever should have so little 
sense ; and, pluming themselves on their 
own superior sagacity, they complacently 
remind each other that great wit is generally 
allied to madness. Who can wonder that 
this should be? Look at what has occurred 
in these islands alone, during so short a period 
as three generations. Look at the lives of 
Fielding, Goldsmith, Smollett, Savage, Shen- 
stone, Budgell, Charnock, Churchill, Chatter- 
ton, Derrick, Parnell, Somerville, Whitehead, 
Coombe, Day, Gilbert Stuart, Ockley, Oldys, 
Boyse, Hasted, Smart, Thomson, Grose, Dawes, 
Barker, Harwood, Porson, Thirlby, Baron, 
Barry, Coleridge, Fearne, Walter Scott, Byron, 
Burns, Moore, and Campbell. Here yon have 
men of every sort of ability, distinguished by 
every variety of imprudence. What does it 
all mean? Why is it that they who might 
have been the salt of the earth, and whom we 
should have been proud to take as our guides, 
are now pointed at by every blockhead as 
proofs of the inability of genius to grapple 
with the realities of life? Why is it that 
against these, and their fellows, each puny 
whipster can draw his sword, and dullards 
3* 



58 MILL OK LIBERTY. 

/ vent their naughty spite ? That little men 
should jeer at great ones, is natural ; that they 
should have reason to jeer at them is shameful. 
Yet, this must always be the case as long as 
the present standard of action exists. As long 
as such expressions as ' the infirmities of 
genius' form an essential part of our language 
— as long as we are constantly reminded that 
genius is naturally simple, guileless, and un- 
versed in the w T ays of the world— as long as 
notions of patronizing and protecting it con- 
tinue — as long as men of letters are regarded 
with pitying wonder, as strange creatures from 
whom a certain amount of imprudence must 
be expected, and in whom it may be tolerated 
—as long as among them extravagance is called 
generosity, and economy called meanness — as 
long as these things happen, so long will the 
evils that correspond to them endure, and so 
long will the highest class of minds lose much 
of their legitimate influence. In the same 
way, while it is believed that authors must, as 
a body, be heedless and improvident, it will 
likewise be believed that for them there must 
be pensions and subscriptions ; that to them 
Government and society should be bountiful ; 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 59 

and that, on their behalf, institutions should 
be erected to provide for necessities which it 
was their own business to have foreseen, but 
which they, engaged in the arduous employ- 
ment of writing books, could not be expected 
to attend to. Their minds are so weak and 
sickly, so unfit for the rough usages of life, that 
they must be guarded against the conse- 
quences of their own actions. The feebleness 
of their understandings makes such precautions 
necessary. There must be hospitals for the 
intellect, as well as for the body ; asylums 
where these poor, timid creatures may find 
refuge, and may escape from calamities which 
their confiding innocence prevented them from 
anticipating. These are the miserable delu- 
sions which still prevail. These are the 
wretched infatuations by which the strength 
and majesty of the literary character are im- 
paired. In England there is, I rejoice to say, 
a more manly and sturdy feeling ,pn these sub- 
jects, than in any other part of Europe; but 
even in England literary men do not sufficiently 
appreciate the true dignity of their profession ; 
nor do they sufficiently understand that the 
foundation of all real grandeur is a spirit of 



60 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

proud and lofty independence. In other 
countries, the state of opinion is most de- 
grading. In other countries, to have a pension 
is a mark of honour, and to beg for money is 
a proof of spirit. Eminent men are turned 
into hirelings, receive eleemosynary aid, and 
raise a clamour if the aid is not forthcoming. 
They snatch at every advantage, and accept 
even titles and decorations from the first foolish 
prince who is willing to bestow them. They 
make constant demands on the public purse, 
and then they wonder that the public respects 
them so little. In France, in particular, we 
have within the last year seen one of the most 
brilliant writers of the age, who had realized 
immense sums by his works, and who with com- 
mon prudence ought to have amassed a large 
fortune, coming forward as a mendicant^ 
avowing in the face of Europe that he had 
squandered what he had earned, and soliciting, 
not only friends, but even strangers, to make 
up the deficiency. And this was done without 
a blush, without any sense of the ignominy 
of the proceeding, but rather with a, parade 
of glorying in it. In a merchant, or a trades- 
man, such a confession of recklessness would 



MILL OK LIBERTY. 61 

have been considered disgraceful ; and why 
are men of genius to have a lower code than 
merchants or tradesmen? "Whence comes this 
confusion of the first principles of justice? 
By what train of reasoning, or rather, by what 
process of sophistry, are we to infer, that when 
men of industry are improvident they shall be 
ruined, but that when men of letters are im- 
provident they shall be rewarded ? How long 
will this invidious distinction be tolerated? 
How long will such scandals last ? How long 
will those who profess to be the teachers of 
mankind behave like children, and submit to 
be treated as the only class who are deficient 
in foresight, in circumspection, in economy, 
and in all those sober and practical virtues 
which form the character of a good and use- 
ful citizen ? Nearly every one who cultivates 
literature as a profession, can gain by it an 
honest livelihood ; and if he cannot gain it, 
he has mistaken his trade, and should seek 
another. Let it, then, be clearly understood 
that what such men earn by their labour, or 
save by their abstinence, or acquire by lawful 
inheritance, that they can enjoy without loss 
of dignity. But if they ask for more, or if 






62 MILL OK LIBERTY. 

they accept more, they become the recipients 
of charity, and between them and the beggar 
who walks the streets, the only difference is 
in the magnitude of the sum which is expected. 
To break stones on the highway is far more 
honourable than to receive such alms. Away, 
then, with your pensions, your subscriptions, 
your Literary Institutions, and your Literary 
Funds, by which you organize mendicancy 
into a system, and, under pretence of in- 
creasing public liberality, increase the amount 
of public imprudence. 

But before this high standard can be reach- 
ed, much remains to be done. As yet, and in 
the present early and unformed state of so- 
ciety, literary men are, notwithstanding a few 
exceptions, more prone to improvidence than 
the members of any other profession; and 
being also more deficient in practical knowl- 
edge, it too often happens that they are regarded 
as clever visionaries, fit to amuse the world, 
but unfit to guide it. The causes of this I 
have examined at some length, both because 
the results are extremely important, and be- 
cause little attention has been hitherto paid to 
their operation. If I were not afraid of being 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 63 

tedious I could push the analysis still further, 
and could show that these very causes are 
themselves a part of the old spirit of pro- 
tection, and as such are intimately connected 
with some religious and political prejudices 
which obstruct the progress of society ; and 
that in the countries where such prejudices are 
most powerful, the mischief is most serious and 
the state of literature most unhealthy. But to 
prosecute that inquiry would be to write a 
treatise rather than an essay ; and I shall be 
satisfied if I have cleared the ground so far as 
I have gone, and have succeeded in tracing 
the relation between these evils and the gen- 
eral question of philosophic Method. The 
divergence between speculative minds and 
practical minds, and the different ways they 
have of contemplating affairs, are no doubt 
encouraged by the prevalence of false notions 
of patronage and reward, which, when they 
are brought to bear upon any class, inevitably 
tend to make that class unthrifty, and there- 
fore unpractical. This is a law of the human 
mind which the political economists have best 
illustrated in their own department, but the 
operation of which is universal. Serious, how- 



64 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

ever, as this evil is, it only belongs to a very 
imperfect state of society, and after a time it 
will probably disappear. But the essential, 
and so far as I can understand, the permanent 
cause of divergence is a difference of Method. 
In the creation of our knowledge, it appears to 
be a fundamental necessity that the specula- 
tive classes should search for what is distant, 
while the practical classes search for what is 
adjacent, I do not see how it is possible to 
get rid of this antithesis. There may be some 
way, which we cannot yet discern, of recon- 
ciling the two extremes, and of merging the 
antagonistic methods into one which, being 
higher than either, shall include both. At 
present, however, there is no prospect of such 
a result. We must, therefore, be satisfied if 
from time to time, and at long intervals, a man 
rises whose mind is so happily constructed as 
to study with equal success the surface and 
the summit ; and who is able to show, by his 
single example, that views drawn from the 
most exalted region of thought, are applicable 
to the common transactions of daily life.. 

The only living Englishman who has 
achieved this is Mr. Mill. In the first place, 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 65 ' 

he is our only great speculative philosopher 
who for many years has engaged in public life. 
Since Ricardo, no original thinker has taken an 
active part in political affairs. Not that those 
affairs have on that account been worse admin- 
istered ; nor that Ave have cause to repine at 
our lot in comparison with other nations. On 
the contrary, no country has been better gov- 
erned than ours ; and at the present moment, 
it would be impossible to find in any one 
European nation more able, zealous, and up- 
right public men than England possesses. In 
such extremely rare cases as those of Brough- 
am and Macaulay, there are also united to 
these qualities the most splendid and captivat- 
ing accomplishments, and the far higher hon- 
our which they justly enjoy of having always 
been the eager and unflinching advocates of 
popular liberty. It cannot, however, be pre- 
tended that even these eminent men have added 
anything to our ideas ; still less can such 
a claim be made on behalf of their inferiors 
in the political world. They have popularized 
the ideas and enforced them, but never created 
them. They have shown great skill and great 
courage in applying the conceptions of others ; 



6Q MILL ON LIBERTY. 

but the fresli conceptions, the higher and lar- 
ger generalizations, have not been their work. 
They can attack old abuses ; they cannot dis- 
cover new principles. This incapacity for 
dealing with the highest problems has been 
curiously exemplified during the last two years, 
when a great number of the most active and 
eminent of our public men, as well as several 
who are active without being eminent, have 
formed an Association for the Promotion- of 
Social Science. Among the papers published 
by that Association, will be found many 
curious facts and many useful suggestions. 
But Social Science there is none. There is not 
even a perception of what that science is. Not 
one speaker or writer attempted a scientific 
investigation of society, or showed that, in his 
opinion, such a thing ought to be attempted. 
Where science begins, the Association leaves 
off. All science is composed either of physical 
laws, or of mental laws ; and as the actions of 
men are determined by both, the only way of 
founding Social Science is to investigate each 
class of laws by itself, and then, after com- 
puting their separate results, coordinate the 
whole into a single study, by verifying them. 



MILL OK LIBERTY. 67 

This is tlie only process by which highly 
complicated phenomena can be disentangled ; 
but the Association did not catch a glimpse 
of it. Indeed, they reversed the proper order, 
and proceeded from the concrete to the ab- 
stract, instead of from the abstract to the 
concrete. The reason of this error may be 
easily explained. The leading members of 
the Association being mostly politicians, fol- 
lowed the habits of their profession ; that is 
to say, they noted the events immediately 
surrounding them, and, taking a contemporary 
view, they observed the actual effects with 
a view of discovering the causes, and then 
remedying the evils. This was their plan, 
and it is natural to men whose occupations 
lead them to look at the surface of affairs. 
But to any mind accustomed to rise to a cer- 
tain height above that surface, and thoroughly 
imbued with the spirit of scientific method, 
it is obvious that this way of investigating 
social phenomena must be futile. Even in 
the limited field of political action, its results 
are at best mere empirical uniformities ; while 
in the immense range of social science it is 
altogether worthless. When men are col- 



68 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

lected together in society, with their passions 
and their interests touching each other at 
every point, it is clear that nothing can hap- 
pen without being produced by a great va- 
riety of causes. Of these causes, some will 
be conflicting, and their action being neu- 
tralized they will often disappear in the pro- 
duct ; or, at all events, will leave traces too 
faint to be discerned. If, then, a cause is 
counteracted, how can you ascertain its ex- 
istence by studying its effect ? When only 
one cause produces an effect, you may infer 
the cause from the effect. But if several 
causes conspire to produce one effect, this is 
impossible. The most persevering study of 
the effect, and the most intimate acquaintance 
with it, will in such case never lead to a 
knowledge of the causes ; and the only plan 
is to proceed deductively from cause to effect, 
instead of inductively from effect to cause. 
Suppose for example, a ball is struck on 
different sides by "two persons at the same 
time. The effect will be that the ball, after 
being struck, will pass from one spot to 
another ; but that effect may be studied for 
thousands of years without any one being 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 69 

able to ascertain the causes of the direction 
the ball took ; and even if he is told that 
two persons have contributed to produce the 
result, he could not discover how much each 
.person contributed. But if the observer, 
instead of studying the effect to obtain the 
causes, had studied the causes themselves, 
he would have been able, without going fur- 
ther, to predict the exact resting-place of the 
ball. In other words, by knowing the causes 
he could learn the effect, but by knowing the 
effect he could not learn the causes. 

Suppose, again, that I hear a musical in- 
strument being played. The effect depends 
on a great variety of causes, among which 
are the power possessed by the air of con- 
veying the sound, the power of the ear to 
receive its vibrations, and the power of the 
brain to feel them. These are vulgarly called 
conditions, but they are all causes ; inasmuch 
as a cause can only be defined to be an 
invariable and unconditional antecedent. They 
are just as much causes as the hand of the 
musician ; and the question arises, could 
those causes have been discovered merely by 
studying the effect the music produced upon 



70 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

me? Most assuredly not. Most assuredly 
would it be requisite to study each cause 
separately, and then, by compounding the 
laws of their action, predict the entire effect. 
In social science, the plurality of causes is far 
more marked than in the cases I have men- 
tioned ; and therefore, in social science, the 
method of proceeding from effects to causes 
is far more absurd. And what aggravates the 
absurdity is, that the difficulty produced by 
the plurality of causes is heightened by another 
difficulty — namely, the conflict of causes. To 
deal with such enormous complications as 
politicians usually deal with them, is simply 
a waste of time. Every science has some 
hypothesis which underlies it, and which 
must be taken for granted. The hypothesis 
on which social science rests, is that the 
actions of men are a compound result of 
the laws of mind and the laws of matter ; 
and as that result is highly complex, we shall 
never understand it until the laws themselves 
have been unravelled by a previous and 
separate inquiry. Even if we could experi- 
ment, it would be different ; because by ex- 
perimenting on an effect we can artificially 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 71 

isolate it, and guard against tlie encroachment 
of causes which we do not wish to investigate. 
But in social science there can be no experi- 
ment. For, in the first place, there can be 
no previous isolation ; since every interference 
lets into the framework of society a host of 
new phenomena which invalidate the experi- 
ment before the experiment is concluded. 
And, in the second place, that which is called 
an experiment, such as the adoption of a fresh 
principle in legislation, is not an experiment 
in the scientific sense of the word ; because 
the results which follow, depend far more 
upon the general state of the surrounding 
society than upon the principle itself. The 
surrounding state of society is, in its turn, 
governed by a long train of antecedents, each 
linked to the other, and forming, in their 
aggregate, an orderly and spontaneous march, 
which politicians are unable to control, and 
which they do for the most part utterly 
ignore. 

^ This absence of speculative ability among 
politicians, is the natural result of the habits 
of their class ; and as the same result is 
almost invariably found among practical men, 



72 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

I have thought the illustration just adduced 
might be interesting, in so far as it confirms 
the doctrine of an essential antagonism of 
Method, which, though like all speculative 
distinctions, infringed at various points, does 
undoubtedly exist, and appears to me to form 
the basis for a classification of society more 
complete than any yet proposed. Perhaps, 
too, it may have the effect of guarding against 
the rash and confident assertions of public 
men on miatters respecting which they have 
no means of forming an opinion, because their 
conclusions are vitiated by the adoption of 
an illogical method. It is, accordingly, a 
matter of notoriety that in predicting the 
results of large and general innovations, even 
the most sagacious politicians have been oftener 
wrong than right, and have foreseen evil when 
nothing but good has come. Against this 
sort of error, the longest and most extensive 
experience affords no protection. While states- 
men confine themselves to questions of detail, 
and to short views of immediate expediency, 
their judgment should be listened to with 
respect. But beyond this, they are rarely to 
be heeded. It constantly and indeed usually 



MILL Otf LIBERTY. 73 

happens, that statesmen and legislators who 
pass their whole life in public affairs, know 
nothing of their own age, except what lies 
on the surface, and are therefore unable to 
calculate, even approximatively, remote and 
general consequences. Abundant evidence of 
their incapacity on these points, will present 
itself to whoever has occasion to read much 
of State Papers, or of parliamentary discus- 
sions in different ages, or, what is still more 
decisive, the private correspondence of eminent 
politicians. These reveal but too clearly, that 
they who are supposed to govern the course 
of affairs, are utterly ignorant of the direction 
affairs are really taking. What is before them 
they see ; what is above them they overlook. 
While, however, this is the deficiency of po- 
litical practitioners, it must be admitted that 
political philosophers are, on their side, equally 
at fault in being too prone to neglect the 
operation of superficial and tangible results. 
The difference between the two classes is 
analogous to that which exists between a gar- 
dener and a botanist. Both deal with plants, 
but each considers the plant from an opposite 
point of view. The gardener looks to its beauty 
4 



74 MILL <m LIBERTY. 

and its flavour. These are qualities which lie 
on the surface ; and to these the scientific 
botanist pays no heed. He studies the physi- 
ology ; he searches for the law ; he penetrates 
the minute structure, and rending the plant, 
sacrifices the individual that he may under- 
stand the species. The gardener, like the 
statesman, is accustomed to consider the super- 
ficial and the immediate ; the botanist, like 
the philosopher, inquires into the hidden and 
the remote. Which pursuit is the more val- 
uable, is not now the question ; but it is certain 
that a successful combination of both pursuits 
is very rare. The habits of mind, the turn 
of thought, all the associations, are diametri- 
cally opposed. To unite them, requires a 
strength of resolution and a largeness of in- 
tellect rarely given to man to attain. It 
usually happens that they who seek to com- 
bine the opposites, fail on both sides, and 
become at once shallow philosophers and 
unsafe practitioners. 

It must, therefore, be deemed a remark- 
able fact, that a man who is beyond dispute 
the deepest of our living thinkers, should, 
during many years, not only have held a 



MILL <OT LIBERTY. 75 

responsible post in a very difficult department 
of government, but should, according to the 
testimony of those best able to judge, have 
fulfilled the duties of that post with con- 
spicuous and unvarying success. This has 
been the case with Mr. Mill, and on this ac- 
count his opinions are entitled to peculiar 
respect, because they are formed by one who 
hfts mastered both extremes of life. Such a 
duality of function is worthy of especial at- 
tention, and it will hardly be taken amiss if 
I endeavour to show how it has displayed 
itself in the writings of this great philosopher. 
To those who delight in contemplating the 
development of an intellect of the rarest kind, 
it will not appear unseemly that, before ex- 
amining his latest work, I should compare 
those other productions by which he has been 
hitherto known and which have won for him 
a vast and permanent fame. 

Those works are his Principles of Political 
Economy, and his System of Logic. Each of 
these elaborate productions is remarkable for 
one of the two greatest qualities of the author ; 
the Political Economy being mostly valuable 
for the practical application of truths pre- 



76 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

yiously established ; while the Logic contains 
an analysis of the process of reasoning, more 
subtle and exhaustive than any which has 
appeared since Aristotle.* Of the Political 
Economy it is enough to say that none of the 
principles in it are new. Since the publica- 
tion of the Wealth of Nations, the science had 

* I do not except even Kant ; because that extraordinary 
thinker, who in some directions has perhaps penetrated deeper 
than any philosopher either before or since, did, in his views 
respecting logic, so anticipate the limits of all future discovery, 
as to take upon himself to affirm that the notion of inductively 
obtaining a standard of objective truth, was not only impracti- 
cable at present, but involved an essential contradiction which 
would always be irreconcileable. Whoever upon any subject 
thus sets up a fixed and prospective limit, gives the surest proof 
that he has not investigated that subject even as far as the ex- 
isting resources allow ; for he proves that he has not reached 
that point where certainty ends, and where the dim outline, 
gradually growing fainter, but always indefinite, teaches us that 
there is something beyond, and that we have no right to pledge 
ourselves respecting that undetermined tract. On the other 
hand, those who stop before they have reached this shadowy 
outline, see everything clearly because they have not advanced 
to the place where darkness begins. If I were to venture to 
criticise such a man as Kant, I should say, after a very careful 
study of his works, and with the greatest admiration of them, 
that the depth of his mind considerably exceeded its compre- 
hensiveness. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 77 

been entirely remodelled, and it was the ob- 
ject of Mr. Mill not to extend its boundaries, 
but to turn to practical account what had been 
achieved by the two generations of thinkers 
who succeeded Adam Smith. The brilliant 
discovery of the true theory of rent, which, 
though not made by Ricardo, was placed by 
him on a solid foundation, had given an en- 
tirely new aspect to economical science ; as 
also had the great law, which he first pointed 
out, of the distributions of the precious metals, 
by means of the exchanges, in exact propor- 
tion to the traffic which, would occur if there 
were no such metals, and if all trade were 
conducted by barter. The great work of 
Mai thus on Population, and the discussions 
to which it led, had ascertained the nature 
and limits of the connexion which exists 
between the increase of labour and the rate 
of wages, and had thus cleared away many of 
the difficulties which beset the path of Adam 
Smith. While this threw new light on the 
causes of the distribution of wealth, Eae had 
analyzed those other causes which govern its 
accumulation, and had shown in what manner 
capital increases with different speed, in differ- 



78 MILL ON LXBEKTY* 

ent countries, and at different times. When 
we, moreover, add that Bentham had demon- 
strated the advantages and the necessity of 
usury as part of the social scheme ; that Bab- 
bage had with signal ability investigated the 
principles which govern the economy of labour, 
and the varying degrees of its productiveness ; 
and that the abstract but very important step 
had been taken by Wakefield of proving that 
the supposed ultimate division of labour is in 
reality but a part of the still higher principle 
of the cooperation of labour ; when we put 
these things together, we shall see that Mr. 
Mill found everything ready to his hand, and 
had only to combine and apply the generali- 
zations of those great speculative thinkers who 
immediately preceded him. 

The success with which he has executed 
this task is marvellous. His treatise on Politi- 
cal Economy is a manual for statesmen even 
more than for speculators ; since, though it 
contains no additions to scientific truths, it is 
full of practical applications. In it, the most 
recondite principles are illustrated, and brought 
to the surface, with a force which has con- 
vinced many persons whose minds are unable 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 79 

to follow long trains of abstract reasoning, 
and wlio rejected the conclusions of Ricardo, 
because that illustrious thinker, master though 
he was of the finest dialectic, lacked the ca- 
pacity of clothing his arguments in circum- 
stances, and could not adapt them to the 
ordinary events of political life. This defi- 
ciency is supplied by Mr. Mill, who treats 
political economy as an art even more than as 
a science.* Hence his book is fall of sugges- 
tions on many of the most important matters 
which can be submitted to the legislature of a 
free people. The laws of bequest and of in- 
heritance ; the laws of primogeniture ; the 
laws of partnership and of limited liability ; 
the laws of insolvency and of bankruptcy ; the 
best method of establishing colonies ; the 
advantages and disadvantages of the income- 
tax ; the expediency of meeting extraordinary 
expenses by taxation drawn from income or 

* Thereby becoming necessarily somewhat empirical ; for 
directly the political economist offers practical suggestions, dis- 
turbing causes are let in, and trouble the pure science which 
depends far more upon reasoning than upon observation. No 
writer I have met with, has put this in a short compass with so 
much clearness as Mr. Senior. See the introduction to his 
Political Economy, 4th edit. 1858, pp. 2 — 5. 



80 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

by an increase of the national debt : these are 
among the subjects mooted by Mr. Mill, and 
on which he has made proposals, the majority 
of which are gradually working their way 
into the public mind. Upon these topics, his in- 
fluence is felt by many who do not know from 
whence the influence proceeds. And no one can 
have attended to the progress of political opin- 
ions during the last ten years, without noticing 
how, in the formation of practical judgments, 
his power is operating on politicians who are 
utterly heedless of his higher generalizations, 
and who would, indeed, in the largest depart- 
ments of thought, be well content to sleep on 
in their dull and ancient routine, but that 
from time to time, and in their own despite, 
their slumbers are disturbed by a noise from 
afar, and they are forced to participate in the 
result of that prodigious movement which is 
now gathering on every side, unsettling the 
stability of affairs, and sapping the founda- 
tion of our beliefs. 

In such intellectual movements, which lie 
at the root of social actions, the practical 
classes can take no original part, though, as 
all history decisively proves, they are event- 



MILL ON LIBEETY. 81 

ually obliged to abide by the consequences 
of them. But it is the peculiar prerogative of 
certain minds to be able to interpret as well 
as to originate. To such men a double duty- 
is entrusted. They enjoy the inestimable 
privilege of communicating directly with prac- 
titioners as well as with speculators, and they 
can both discover the abstract and manipulate 
the concrete. The concrete and practical 
tendency of the present age is clearly exhibited 
in Mr. Mill's work on Political Economy ; 
while in his work on Logic we may see as 
clearly the abstract and theoretical tendency 
of the same period. The former work is chiefly 
valuable in relation to the functions of govern- 
ment ; the latter in relation to the functions of 
thought. In the one, the art of doing ; in the 
other, the science of reasoning. The revolution 
which he has effected in this great department 
of speculative knowledge, will be best under- 
stood by comparing what the science of logic 
was when he began to write, with what it was 
after his work was published. 

Until Mr. Mill entered the field there were 
only two systems of logic. The first w T as the 

syllogistic system which was founded by Aris- 
4* 



82 MILL OK LIBERTY* 

totle, and to which the moderns have contrib- 
uted nothing of moment, except the discovery 
during the present century of the quantifica- 
tion of the predicate.* The other was the 
inductive system, as organized by Bacon, to 
which also it was reserved for our generation 
to make the first essential addition ; Sir John 
Herschel having the great merit of ascertaining 
the existence of four different methods, the 
boundaries of which had escaped the attention 
of previous philosophers.f That the word 
logic should by most writers be confined to 
the syllogistic, or, as it is sometimes called, 

* Made by Sir William Hamilton and Mr. De Morgan about 
the same time and, I believe, independently of each other. Be- 
fore this, nothing of moment had been added to the Aristotelian 
doctrine of the syllogism, unless we consider as such the fourth 
figure. This was unknown to Aristotle ; but it may be doubted 
if it is essential ; and, if I rightly remember, Sir Wm. Hamilton 
did not attach much importance to the fourth syllogistic figure, 
while Archbishop Whately (Logic, 1857, p. 5) calls it 'insig- 
nificant.' Compare Mansel's Aldrich, 1856, p. 76. The hypo- 
thetical syllogism is usually said to be post- Aristotelian ; but 
although I cannot now recover the passage, I have seen evidence 
which makes me suspect that it was known to Aristotle, though 
not formally enunciated by him. 

f This is acknowledged by Mr. Mill, who has stated and 
analyzed these methods with great clearness. — Mill's Logic, 4th 
edit. 1856, vol. i. p. 451. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 83 

Formal, method, is a striking proof of the ex- 
tent to which language is infested by the old 
scholastic prejudices ; for, as the science of 
logic is the theory of the process of inference, 
and as the art of logic is the practical skill 
of inferring rightly from given data, it is evi- 
dent that any system is a system of logic which 
ascertains the laws of the theory, and lays down 
the rules of the practice. The inductive sys- 
tem of logic may be better or worse than the 
deductive; but both are systems.* And till 

* Archbishop Whately, who has written what is probably the 
best elementary treatise existing on formal logic, adopts the old 
opinion that the inductive ' process of inquiry ' by which prem- 
ises are obtained, is ' out of the province of logic.' — Whately's 
Logic, 1857, p. 151. Mr. Be Morgan, whose extremely able 
work goes much deeper into the subject than Archbishop 
Whately's, is, however, content with excluding induction, not 
from logic, but from formal logic. 4 What is now called induc- 
tion, meaning the discovery of laws from instances, and higher 
laws from lower ones, is beyond the province of formal logic.' — 
De Morgan's Logic, 1847, p. 215. As a law of nature is fre- 
quently the major premiss of a syllogism, this statement of Mr. 
Be Morgan's seems unobjectionable. The point at issue involves 
much more than a mere dispute respecting words, and I there- 
fore add, without subscribing to, the view of another eminent 
authority. ' To entitle any work to be classed as the logic of 
this or that school, it is at least necessary that it should, in com- 



84: MILL ON LIBEKTY. 

nearly the middle of the present century, men 
were divided between the Aristotelian logic 
which infers from generals to particulars, and 
the Baconian logic which infers from par- 
ticulars to generals.* 

mon with the Aristotelian logic, adhere to the syllogistic method, 
whatever modifications or additions it may derive from the par- 
ticular school of its author.' — Mansel's Introduction to Aldrieh's 
Artis Zogicce Rudimenta, 1856, p. xlii. See also Appendix, pp„ 
194, 195, and Mr. Mansel's Prolegomena Logica, 1851, pp. 89 t 
169. On the other hand r Bacon, who considered the syllogism 
to be worse than useless, distinctly claims the title of ' logical * 
for his inductive system. ' Illud vero monendum, nos in hoc 
nostro organo tractare Iogicam, non philosophiam,' — Novum Or- 
ganwn, lib. ii. Aphor. Hi. in Bacon's Worlcs y vol. iv. p. 382. 
This should be compared with the remarks of Sir Wm. Hamilton 
on inductive logic in his Discussions, 1852, p. 158. What 
strikes one most in this controversy is, that none of the great 
advocates of the exclusive right of the syllogistic system to the 
word ' logic ' appear to be well acquainted with physical science. 
They,, therefore, cannot understand the real nature of induction 
in the modern sense of the term, and they naturally depreciate a 
method with whose triumphs they have no sympathy. 

* To what extent Aristotle did or did not recognize an in- 
duction of particulars as the first step in our knowledge, and 
therefore as the base of every major premiss, has been often dis- 
puted ; but I have not heard that any of the disputants have 
adopted the only means by which such a question can be tested 
— namely, bringing together the most decisive passages from 



MILL OX LIBERTY. 85 

While the science of logic was in this state., 
there appeared in 1843 Mr. Mill's System of 
Logic / the fundamental idea of which is, that 
the logical process is not from generals to 
particulars, nor from particulars to generals, 
but from particulars to particulars. According 
to this view, which is gradually securing the 
adhesion of thinkers the syllogism, instead of 
being an act of reasoning, is an act, first of 
registration, and then of interpretation. The 
major premiss of a syllogism being the record 
of previous induction, the business of syllogism 
is to interpret that record and bring it to light. 
In the syllogism we preserve our experience, 
and we also realize it ; but the reasoning is at 
an end when the major premiss is enunciated. 
For, after that enunciation, no fresh truth is 
propounded. As soon, therefore, as the major 
is stated, the argument is over ; because the 
general proposition is but a register, or, as it 
were, a note-book, of inferences which involve 

Aristotle, and then leaving them to the judgment of the reader. 
As this seems to be the most impartial way of proceeding, I have 
gone through Aristotle's logical works with a view to it ; and 
those who are interested in these matters will find the extracts at 
the end of this essay. 



86 MILL OK LIBERTY. 

everything at issue. While, however, the 
syllogism is not a process of reasoning, it is 
a security that the previous reasoning is good. 
And this, in three ways. In the first place, 
by interposing a general proposition between 
the collection of the first particulars and 
the statement of the last particulars, it pre- 
sents a larger object to the imagination than 
would be possible if we had only the par- 
ticulars in our mind. In the second place, the 
syllogism serves as an artificial memory, and 
enables us to preserve order among a mass 
of details ; being at once a formula into which 
we throw them, and a contrivance by which 
we recall them. Finally, the syllogism is a 
protection against negligence ; since, when we 
infer from a number of observed, cases to a 
case we have not yet observed, we, instead of 
jumping at once to that case, state a general 
proposition which includes it, and which must 
be true if our conclusion is true ; so that, 
by this means, if we have reasoned errone- 
ously, the error becomes more broad and con- 
spicuous. 

This remarkable analysis of the nature and 
functions of the syllogism is, so far as our 



MILL ON LIBERTY, 87 

present knowledge goes, exhaustive ; whether 
or not it will admit of still further resolution 
we cannot tell. At all events it is a contri- 
bution of the greatest importance to the 
science of reasoning, and involves many other 
speculative questions w^hich are indirectly 
connected with it, but which I shall not now 
open up. Neither need I stop to show how 
it affords a basis for establishing the true dis- 
tinction between induction and deduction ; a 
distinction which Mr. Mill is one of the ex- 
tremely few English writers who has thor- 
oughly understood, since it is commonly sup- 
posed in this country that geometry is the 
proper type of deduction, whereas it is only 
one of the types, and, though an admirable 
pattern of the deductive investigation of coex- 
istences throws no light on the deductive .in- 
vestigation of sequences. But, passing over 
these matters as too large to be discussed here, 
I would call attention to a fundamental prin- 
ciple which underlies Mr. Mill's philosophy, 
and from which it will appear that he is as 
much opposed to the advocates of the Baconian 
method as to those of the Aristotelian. In this 
respect he has been, perhaps unconsciously, 



88 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

greatly influenced by the spirit of the age ; for 
it might be easily shown, and indeed will hardly 
be disputed, that during the last fifty years an 
opinion has been gaining ground, that the 
Baconian system has been overrated, and that 
its favourite idea, of proceeding from effects to 
causes instead of from causes to effects, will not 
carry us so far as was supposed by the truly 
great, though, somewhat empirical thinkers of 
the eighteenth century. 

One point in which the inductive philoso- 
phy commonly received in England is very 
inaccurate, and wdiicli Mr. Mill has justly at- 
tacked, is, that following the authority of 
Bacon, it insists upon all generalizations being 
conducted by ascending from each generaliza- 
tion to the one immediately above and ad- 
joining ; and it denounces as hasty and 
unphilosophic any attempt to soar to a higher 
stage without mastering the intermediate 
steps.* This is an undue limitation of that 



* c Ascendendo continenter et gradatim, ut ultimo loco per- 
veniatur ad maxime generalia ; quae via vera est, sed intentata.' 
Novum Organum, lib. i. aphor. xix. in Bacon's Works, vol. iv. 
p. 268. London, 1778 ; 4to. And in lib. i. aphor. civ. p. 294. 
— 'Sed de scientiis turn demumlbene sperandum est, quandoper 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 89 

peculiar property of genius which, for want of 
a better word, we call intuition ; and that, in 
this respect. Bacon's philosophy was too nar- 
row, and placed men too much on the par* 
by obliging them all to use the same method 
is now frequently though not generally ad- 
mitted, and has been perceived by several 
philosophers.f The objections raised by Mr. 
Mill on this ground, though put with great 
ability, are, as he would be the first to confess, 

scalam veram et per gradus continuos et non intermissos, aut 
hiulcos, a particularibus ascendetur ad axiomata minora, et 
deinde ad media, alia aliis superiora, et postremo demum ad 
generalissima.' 

* ' Nostra vero inveniendi scientias ea est ratio, nt non mul- 
tum ingeniorum acumini et robori relinquatur ; sed quae ingenia 
et intellectus fere exaequet.' — Novum Organum, lib. i. aphor. 
lxi. ; Bacon's Works, vol. iv. p. 275. And in lib. i. aphor. 
cxxii. [ Works, vol. iv. p. 301], ' Nostra enim via inveniendi 
scientias exaequat fere ingenia, et non multum excellentiae 
eorum relinquit ; cum omnia per certissimas regulas et demon- 
strationes transigat.' 

f And is noticed in Whewell's Philosophy of the Inductive 
Sciences, 1847, vol. ii. p. 240; though this celebrated writer, so 
far from connecting it with Bacon's doctrine of gradual and un- 
interrupted ascent, considers such doctrine to be the peculiar 
merit of Bacon, and accuses those who hold a contrary opinion, 
of 'dimness of vision,' pp. 126, 232. Happily, all are not dim 
who are said to be so. 



90 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

not original; and the same remark may be 
made in a smaller degree concerning another 
objection— namely, that Bacon did not attach 
sufficient weight to the plurality of causes,* 
and did not see that the great complexity 
they produce would often baffle his method, 
and would render another method necessary. 
But while Mr. Mill has in these parts of 
his work been anticipated, there is a more 
subtle, and as it appears to me, a more fatal 
objection which he has made against the Ba- 
conian philosophy. And as this objection, be- 
sides being entirely new, lies far out of the 
path of ordinary speculation, it has hardly 
yet attracted the notice even of philosophic 
logicians, and the reader will probably be 
interested in hearing a simple and untech- 
nical statement of it. 

Logic, considered as a science, is solely 
concerned with induction ; and the business 
of induction is to arrive at causes ; or, to 
speak more strictly, to arrive at a knowledge 
of the laws of causation.f So far Mr. Mill 

* Mill's Logic, fourth edition, vol. ii. p. 321. I am almost 
sure this remark has been made before. 

f ' The main question of the science of logic is induction. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 91 

agrees with Bacon ; but from the operation 
of this rule he removes an immense body of 
phenomena which were brought under it by 
the Baconian philosophy. He asserts, and 
I think he proves, that though uniformities 
of succession may be investigated inductively, 
it is impossible to investigate, after that fash- 
ion, uniformities of co-existence ; and that, 
therefore, to these last the Baconian method 
is inapplicable. If, for instance, we say that 
all negroes have woolly hair, we affirm an 
uniformity of co-existence between the hair 
and some other property or properties essen- 
tial to the negro. But if we were to say that 
they have woolly hair in consequence of their 
skin being black, we should affirm an uni- 
formity not of co-existence, but of succession. 
Uniformities of succession are frequently ame- 
nable to induction : uniformities of co-exis- 
tence are never amenable to it, and are con- 

which, however, is almost entirely passed over by professed 
writers.' — Mill's Logic, vol. i. p. 309. ' The chief object of in- 
ductive logic is to point out how the laws of causation are to be 
ascertained.' — Vol. i. p. 407. l The mental process with which 
logic is conversant, the operation of ascertaining truths by means 
of evidence, is always, even when appearances point to a differ- 
ent theory of it, a process of induction.' — Vol. ii. p. 177. 



92 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

sequently out of the jurisdiction of the Baconian 
philosophy. They may, no doubt, be treated 
according to the simple enumeration of the 
ancients, which, however, w x as so crude an 
induction as hardly to be worthy the name.* 
But the powerful induction of the moderns, 
depending upon a separation of nature, and 
an elimination of disturbances, is, in reference 
to co- existences, absolutely impotent. The 

* The character of the Aristotelian induction is so justly 
portrayed by Mr. Maurice in his admirable account of the Greek 
philosophy, that I cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing the 
passage. 'What this induction is, and how entirely it differs 
from that process which bears the same name in the writings of 
Bacon, the reader will perceive the more he studies the different 
writings of Aristotle. He will find, first, that the sensible phe- 
nomenon is taken for granted as a safe starting point. That 
phenomena are not principles, Aristotle believed as strongly as 
we could. But, to suspect phenomena, to suppose that they 
need sifting and probing in order that we may know what the 
fact is which they denote, this is no part of his system.' — 
Maurice's Ancient Philosophy, 1850, p. 173. Nothing can be 
better than the expression that Aristotle did not suspect phe- 
nomena. The moderns do suspect them, and therefore test 
them either by crucial experiments or by averages. The latter 
resource was not effectively employed until the eighteenth cen- 
tury. It now bids fair to be of immense importance, though in 
some branches of inquiry the nomenclature must become more 
precise before the full value of the method can be seem 



MILL 01$ LIBERTY. V6 

utmost that it can give is empirical laws, 
useful for practical guidance, but void of 
scientific value. That this has hitherto been 
the case the history of our knowledge decisively 
proves. That it always will be the case is, 
in Mr. Mill's opinion, equally certain, be- 
cause while, on the one hand, the study of 
uniformities of succession has for its basis that 
absorbing and over-ruling hypothesis of the 
constancy of causation, on which every human 
being more or less relies, and to which phil- 
osophers will hear of no exception ; we, on 
the other hand, find that the study of the 
uniformities of co-existence has no such sup- 
port, and that therefore the whole field of 
inquiry is* unsettled and indeterminate. Thus 
it is that if I see a negro suffering pain, the 
law of causation compels me to believe that 
something had previously happened of which 
pain was the necessary consequence. But 
I am not bound to believe that he possesses 
some property of which his woolly hair or his 
dark skin are the necessary accompaniments. 
I cling to the necessity of an uniform se- 
quence ; I reject the necessity of an uniform 
co-existence. This is the difference between 



94 MILL ON LIBEKTY. 

consequences and concomitants. That the pain 
has a cause, I am well assured. But for 
aught I can tell, the blackness and the 
woolliness may be ultimate properties which 
are referrible to no cause ;* or if they are 
not ultimate properties, each may be de- 
pendent on its own cause, but not be neces- 
sarily connected. The relation, therefore, may 
be universal in regard to the fact, and yet 
casual in regard to the science. 

This distinction when once stated is very 
simple ; but its consequences in relation to 
the science of logic had escaped all previous 
thinkers. When thoroughly appreciated, it 
will dispel the idle dream of the universal 
application of the Baconian philosophy ; aiid 
in the meantime it will explain how it was 
that even during Bacon's life, and in his own 
hands, his method frequently and signally 
failed. He evidently believed that as every 

* That is, not logically referrible by the understanding. I 
say nothing of causes which touch on transcendental grounds ; 
but, barring these, Mr. Mill's assertion seems unimpeachable, 
that ' co-existences between the ultimate properties of things ' 
. . . ' cannot depend on causation, 7 unless by 4 ascending to the 
origin of all things. 7 — Mill's Logic, vol. ii. p. 106. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 95 

phenomenon lias something which must fol- 
low from it, so also it has something which 
must go with it, and which he termed its 
Form.* If he could generalize the form — 
that is to say, if he could obtain the law of 
the co-existence — he rightly supposed that 
he would gain a scientific knowledge of the 
phenomenon. "With -this view he taxed his 
fertile invention to the utmost. He contrived 
a variety of refined and ingenious artifices, 
by which various instances might be succes- 
fully compared, and the conditions which are 
essential, distinguished from those which are 
non-essential. He collated negatives with 
affirmatives, and taught the art of separating 
nature by rejections and exclusions. Yet, in 
regard to the study of co-existences, all his 
caution, all his knowledge, and all his thought, 

* 'Etenini forma naturae alicujus talis est, ut, ea posita, 
natura data infallibiliter sequatur. Itaque adest perpetuo, quando 
natura ilia adest, atque earn universaliter affirmat, atque inest 
omni. Eadem forma talis est, ut ea amota, natura data infallibi- 
liter fugiat, Itaque abest perpetua quando natura ilia abest, 
eamque perpetuo abnegat, atque inest soli.' — J¥ovii?n Organwn, 
lib. ii. aphor. iv. ; Works, vol. iv. p. 307. Compare also respect- 
ing these forms, his treatise on The Advancement of Learning, 
book ii. ; Works, vol. i. pp. 57, 58, 61, 62. 



96 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

were useless. His weapons, notwithstanding 
their power, could make no impression on 
that stubborn and refractory topic. The laws 
of co-existences are as great a mystery as 
ever, and all our conclusions respecting them 
are purely empirical. Every inductive science 
now existing is, in its strictly scientific part, 
solely a generalization' of sequences. The 
reason of this, though vaguely appreciated by 
several writers, was first clearly stated and 
connected with the general theory of our 
knowledge by Mr. Mill. He has the immense 
merit of striking at once to the very root of 
the subject, and showing that, in the science 
of logic, there is a fundamental distinction 
which forbids us to treat co-existences as Ave 
may treat sequences ; that a neglect of this 
distinction impairs the value of the philosophy 
of Bacon, and has crippled his successors ; 
and finally, that the origin of this distinction 
may be traced backward and upward until 
we reach those ultimate laws of causation 
which support the fabric of our knowledge, 
and beyond which the human mind, in the 
present stage of its development, is unable to 
penetrate. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 97 

While Mr. Mill, both by delving to the 
foundation and rising to the summit, has ex- 
cluded the Baconian philosophy from the 
investigation of co-existences, he has likewise 
proved its incapacity for solving those vast 
social problems which now, for the first time 
in the history of the world, the most advanced 
thinkers are setting themselves to work at 
deliberately, with scientific purpose, and with 
something like adequate resources. As this, 
however, pertains to that domain to which I 
too, according to my measure and with what- 
ever power I may haply possess, have devoted 
myself, I am unwilling to discuss here what 
elsewhere I shall find a fitter place for con- 
sidering ; and I shall be content if I have con- 
veyed to the reader some idea of what has 
been effected by one whom I cannot but regard 
as the most profound thinker England has 
produced since the seventeenth century, and 
whose services, though recognized by innumer- 
able persons each in his own peculiar walk, 
are little understood in their entirety, because 
we, owing partly to the constantly increasing 
mass of our knowledge, and partly to an ex- 
cessive veneration for the principle of the 
5 



98 MILL OK LIBERTY. 

division of labour, are too prone to isolate our 
inquiries and to narrow tlie range of our in- 
tellectual sympathies. The notion that a man 
will best succeed by adhering to one pursuit, 
is as true in practical life as it is false in 
speculative life. No one can have a firm grasp 
of any science if, by confining himself to it, 
he shuts out the light of analogy, and deprives 
himself of that peculiar aid which is derived 
from a commanding survey of the co-ordina- 
tion and interdependence of things and of 
the relation they bear to each other. He 
may, no doubt, work at the details of his 
subject ; he may be useful in adding to its 
facts ; he will never be able to enlarge its 
philosophy. For, the philosophy of every 
department depends on its connexion with 
other departments, and must therefore be 
sought at their points of contact. It must be 
looked for in the place where they touch and 
coalesce ; it lies not in the centre of each 
science, but on the confines and margin. This, 
however, is a truth which men are apt to 
reject, because they are naturally averse to 
comprehensive labour, and are too ready to 
believe that their own peculiar and limited 



^ 



MILL ON LIBEETY. 99 

science is so important that they would not 
be justified in striking into paths which diverge 
from it. Hence we see physical philosophers 
knowing nothing of political economy, political 
economists nothing of physical science, and 
logicians nothing of either. Hence, too, there 
are few indeed who are capable of measuring 
the enormous field which Mr. Mill has trav- 
ersed, or of scanning the depth to which in 
that field he has sunk his shaft. 

It is from such a man as this, that a work 
has recently issued upon a subject far more 
important than any which even he had 
previously investigated, and in fact the most 
important with which the human mind can 
grapple. For, Liberty is the one thing most 
essential to the right development of indi- 
viduals and to the real grandeur of nations. 
It is a product of knowledge when knowledge 
advances in a healthy and regular manner ; 
but if under certain unhappy circumstances 
it is opposed by what seems to be knowledge, 
then, in God's name, let knowledge perish and 
Liberty be preserved. Liberty is not a means 
to an end, it is an end itself. To secure it, 
to enlarge it, and to diffuse it, should be the 



100 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

main object of all social arrangements and of 
all political contrivances. None but a pedant 
or a tyrant can put science or literature in 
competition with it. "Within certain limits, 
and very small limits too, it is the inalienable 
prerogative of man, of which no force of 
circumstances and no lapse of time can de- 
prive him. He has no right to barter it away 
even from himself, still less from his children. 
It is the foundation of all self-respect, and 
without it the great doctrine of moral respon- 
sibility would degenerate into a lie and a 
juggle. It is a sacred deposit, and the love 
of it is a holy instinct engraven in our hearts. 
And if it could be shown that the tendency 
of advancing knowledge is to encroach upon 
it ; if it could be proved that in the march 
of what we call civilization, the desire for 
liberty did necessarily decline, and the exercise 
of liberty become less frequent ; if this could 
be made apparent, I for one' should wish that 
the human race might halt in its career, and 
that we might recede step by step, so that 
the very trophies and memory of our glory 
should vanish, sooner than that men were 
bribed by their splendour to forget the senti- 
ment of their own personal dignity. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 101 

But it cannot be. Surely it cannot be that 
we, improving in all other things, should be 
retrograding in the most essential. Yet, 
among thinkers of great depth and authority, 
there is a fear that such is the case. With 
that fear I cannot agree ; but the existence 
of the fear, and the discussions to which it has 
led and will lead are extremely salutary, as 
calling our attention to an evil which in the 
eagerness of our advance we might otherwise 
overlook. "We are stepping on at a rate of 
which no previous example has been seen ; 
and it is good that, amid the pride and flush 
of our prosperity, we should be made to in- 
quire what price we have paid for our suc- 
cess. Let us compute the cost as well as the 
gain. Before ~we announce our fortune we 
should balance our books. Every one, there- 
fore, should rejoice at the appearance of a 
work in which for the first time the great 
question of Liberty is unfolded in all its 
dimensions, considered on every side and from 
every aspect, and brought to bear upon our 
present condition with a steadiness of hand 
and a clearness of purpose which they will 
most admire who are most accustomed to 
reflect on this difficult and complicated topic. 



102 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

In the actual state of the world, Mr. Mill 
rightly considers that the least important part 
of the question of liberty is that which con- 
cerns the relation between subjects and rulers. 
On this point, notwithstanding the momentary 
ascendancy of despotism on the Continent, 
there is, I believe, nothing to dread. In 
France and Germany, the bodies of men are 
enslaved, but not their minds. Nearly all the 
intellect of Europe is arrayed against tyranny, 
and the ultimate result of such a struggle can 
hardly be doubted. The immense armies which 
are maintained, and which some mention as 
a proof that the love of war is increasing 
instead of diminishing, are merely an evidence 
that the governing classes distrust and suspect 
the future, and know that their real danger 
is to be found not abroad but at home. They 
fear revolution far more than invasion. The 
state of foreign affairs is their pretence for 
arming ; the state of public opinion is the 
cause. And right glad they are to find a 
decent pretext for protecting themselves from 
that punishment which many of them richly 
deserve. But I cannot understand how any 
one w T ho has carefully studied the march of 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 103 

the European mind, and lias seen it triumph 
over obstacles ten times more formidable 
than these, can really apprehend that the 
liberties of Europe will ultimately fall before 
those who now threaten their existence. When 
the spirit of freedom was far less strong and 
less universal, the task was tried, and tried in 
vain. It is hardly to be supposed that the 
monarchical principle, decrepit as it now is, 
and stripped of that dogma of divine right 
which long upheld it, can eventually with- 
stand the pressure of those general causes 
which, for three centuries, have marked it 
for destruction. And, since despotism has 
chosen the institution of monarchy as that 
under which it seeks a shelter, and for which 
it will fight its last battle, we may fairly as- 
sume that the danger is less imminent than is 
commonly imagined, and that they who rely 
on an old and enfeebled principle, with which 
neither the religion nor the affections of men 
are associated as of yore, will find that 
they are leaning on a broken reed, and that 
the sceptre of their power will pass from 
them. 

I cannot, therefore, participate in the feel- 



104: MILL OK LIBERTY. 

ings of those who look with apprehensions 
at the present condition of Europe. Mr. Mill 
would perhaps take a less sanguine view ; 
hut it is observable that the greater part of 
his defence of liberty is not directed against 
political tyranny. There is, however, another 
sort of tyranny which is far more insidious, 
and against which he has chiefly bent his 
efforts. This is the despotism of custom, to 
which ordinary minds entirely succumb, and 
before which even strong minds quail. But 
custom being merely the product of public 
opinion, or rather its external manifestation, 
the two principles of custom and opinion 
must be considered together ; and I will briefly 
state how, according to Mr. Mill, their joint 
action is producing serious mischief, and is 
threatening mischief more serious still. 

The proposition which Mr. Mill undertakes 
to establish is, that society, whether acting 
by the legislature or by the influence of public 
opinion, has no right to interfere with the 
conduct of any individual for the sake of his 
own good. Society may interfere with him 
for their good, not for his. If his actions hurt 
them, he is, under certain circumstances, 



MILL O^ LIBERTY. 105 

amenable to their authority ; if they only 
hurt himself, he is never amenable. The 
proposition, thus stated, will be acceded to 
by many persons who, in practice, repudiate 
it every day of their lives. The ridicule which 
is cast upon whoever deviates from an estab- 
lished custom, however trifling and foolish 
that custom may be, shows the determination 
of society to exercise arbitrary sway over in- 
dividuals. On the most insignificant as well 
as on the most important matters, rules are 
laid down which no one dares to violate, 
except in those extremely rare cases in which 
great intellect, great wealth, or great rank 
enable a man rather to command society than 
to be commanded by it. The immense mass of 
mankind are, in regard to their usages, in a 
state of social slavery ; each man being bound 
under heavy penalties to conform to the stand- 
ard of life common to his own class. How 
serious those penalties are, is evident from the 
fact that though innumerable persons complain 
of prevailing customs and wish to shake them 
off, they dare not do so, but continue to prac- 
tise them, though frequently at the expense 
of health, comfort, and fortune. Men, not 
5* 



106 MILL OK LIBERTY. 

cowards in other respects, and of a fair share 
of moral courage, are afraid to rebel against 
this grievous and exacting tyranny. The 
consequences of this are injurious, not only 
to those who desire to be freed from the 
thraldom, but also to those who do not 
desire to be freed ; that is, to the whole 
of society. Of these results, there are two 
particularly mischievous, and which, in the 
opinion of Mr. Mill, are likely to gain ground, 
unless some sudden change of sentiment should 
occur. 

The first mischief is, that a sufficient num- 
ber of experiments are not made respecting 
the different ways of living ; from which it 
happens that the art of life is not so well 
understood as it otherwise would be. If society 
were more lenient to eccentricity, and more 
inclined to examine what is unusual than to 
laugh at it, w e should find that many courses 
of conduct which we call whimsical, and which 
according to the ordinary standard are ut~ 
terly irrational, have more reason in them 
than we are disposed to imagine. But, while 
a country or &n age will obstinately insist 
upon condemning all human conduct which 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 107 

Is not in accordance with the manner or fashion 
of the day, deviations from the straight line 
will be rarely hazarded. "We are, therefore, 
prevented from knowing how far such devia- 
tions would be useful. By discouraging the 
experiment, we retard the knowledge. On 
this account, if on no other, it is advisable 
that the widest latitude should be given to 
unusual actions, which ought to be valued as 
tests whereby we may ascertain whether or 
not particular things are expedient. Of course, 
the essentials of morals are not to be violated, 
nor the public peace to be disturbed. But 
short of this, every indulgence should be 
granted. For progress depends upon change ; 
and it is only by practising uncustomary 
things that we can discover if they are fit to 
become customary. 

The other evil which society inflicts on 
herself by her own tyranny is still more 
serious ; and although I cannot go with Mr. 
Mill in considering the danger to be so immi- 
nent as he does, there can, I think, be little 
doubt that it is the one weak point in modern 
civilization ; and that it is the only thing of 
importance in which, if we are not actually 



108 MILL OBT LIBERTY. 

receding, we are making no perceptible ad- 
vance. 

This is, that most precious and inestimable 
quality, the quality of individuality. That 
the increasing authority of society, if not coun- 
teracted by other causes, tends to limit the 
exercise of this quality, seems indisputable. 
"Whether or not there are counteracting causes 
is a question of great complexity, and could 
not be discussed without entering into the 
general theory of our existing civilization. 
With the most unfeigned deference for every 
opinion enunciated by Mr. Mill, I venture to 
differ from him on this matter, and to think 
that, on the whole, individuality is not dimin- 
ishing, and that so far as we can estimate 
the future, it is not likely to diminish. But 
it would ill become any man to combat the 
views of this great thinker, without subjecting 
the point at issue to a rigid and careful 
analysis \ and as I have not done so, I will 
not weaken my theory by advancing imper- 
fect arguments in its favour, but will, as 
before, confine myself to stating the conclu- 
sions at which he has arrived, after what has 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 109 

evidently been a train of long and anxious 
reflection. 

According to Mr. Mill, things are tending, 
and have for some time tended, to lessen the 
influence of original minds, and to raise medi- 
ocrity to the foremost place. Individuals are 
lost in the crowd. The world is ruled not by 
them, but by public opinion ; and public 
opinion, being the voice of the many, is the 
voice of mediocrity. Affairs are now gov- 
erned by average men, who will not pay to 
great men the deference that was formerly 
yielded. Energy and originality being less 
respected, are becoming more rare ; and in 
England in particular, real energy has hardly 
any field, except in business, where a large 
amount of it undoubtedly exists.* Our great- 
ness is collective, and depends not upon what 
we do as individuals, but upon our power 
of combining. In every successive genera- 
tion, men more resemble each other in all 

* i There is now scarcely any outlet for energy in this coun- 
try except business. The energy expended in that may still be 
regarded as considerable.' — Mill On Liberty, p. 125. I suppose 
that, under the word business, Mr. Mill includes political and the 
higher class of official pursuits. 



110 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

respects. They are more alike in their civil 
and political privileges, in their habits, in their 
tastes, in their manners, in their dress, in what 
they see, in what they do, in what they read, 
in what they think, and in what they say. 
On all sides the process of assimilation is 
going on. Shades of character are being 
blended, and contrasts of will are being recon- 
ciled. As a natural consequence, the indi- 
vidual life, that is, the life which distinguishes 
each man from his fellows, is perishing. The 
consolidation of the many destroys the action 
of the few. "While we amalgamate the mass, 
we absorb the unit. 

The authority of society is, in this way, 
ruining society itself. For, the human fac- 
ulties can, for the most part, only be exercised 
and disciplined by the act of choosing; but 
he who does a thing merely because others 
do it, makes no choice at all. Constantly 
copying the manners and opinions of our 
contemporaries, we strike out nothing that is 
new ; we follow on in a dull and monotonous 
uniformity. "We go where others lead. The 
field of option is being straitened ; the number 
of alternatives is diminishing. And the result 



MILL OX LIBERTY. Ill 

is, a sensible decay of that vigour and raciness 
of character, that diversity and fulness of life, 
and that audacity both of conception and of 
execution which marked the strong men of 
former times, and enabled them at once to 
improve and to guide the human species. 

Now all this is gone, perhaps never to 
return, unless some great convulsion should 
previously occur. Originality is dying away, 
and is being replaced by a spirit of servile 
and apish imitation. ¥e are degenerating 
into machines who do the will of society ; 
our impulses and desires are repressed by a 
galling and artificial code ; our minds are 
dwarfed and stunted by the checks and 
limitations to which we are perpetually sub- 
jected. Y 

How, then, is it possible to discover new 
truths of real importance ? How is it possible 
that creative thought can flourish in so sickly 
and tainted an atmosphere? Genius is a form 
of originality ; if the originality is discour- 
aged, how can the genius remain ? It is hard 
to see the remedy for this crying evil. Society 
is growing so strong as to destroy indi- 
viduality ; that is, to destroy the very quality 

y 



112 MILL OK LIBERTY. 

to which, our civilization, and therefore our 
social fabric, is primarily owing. 

The truth is, that we must vindicate the 
right of each man to do what he likes, and to 
say what he thinks, to an extent much greater 
than is usually supposed to be either safe or 
decent. This we must do for the sake of so- 
ciety, quite as much as for our own sake. That 
society would be benefited by a greater free- 
dom of action has been already shown ; and 
the same thing may be proved concerning free- 
dom of speech and of writing. In this respect, 
authors, and the teachers of mankind gen- 
erally, are far too timid ; w^hile the state of 
public opinion is far too interfering. The re- 
marks which Mr. Mill has made on this, are 
so exhaustive as to be unanswerable ; and 
though many will call in question what he 
has said respecting the decline of individuality, 
no well instructed person will dispute the 
accuracy of his conclusions respecting the need 
of an increased liberty of discussion and of 
publication. 

In the present state of knowledge the 
majority of people are so ill-informed as not 
to be aware of the true nature of belief; they 



MILL ON LIBEETY. 113 

are not aware that all belief is involuntary, and 
is entirely governed by the circumstances which 
produce it. They who have paid attention to 
these subjects, know that what we call the will 
has no power over belief, and that consequently 
a man is nowise responsible for his creed, ex- 
cept in so far as he is responsible for the events 
which gave him his creed. "Whether, for in- 
stance, he is a Mohammedan or a Christian, 
will usually resolve itself into a simple question 
of his geographical antecedents. He who is 
born in Constantinople, will hold one set of 
opinions ; he who is born in London, will hold 
another set. Both act according to their light 
and their circumstances, and if both are sincere 
both are guiltless. In each case, the believer 
is controlled by physical facts which deter- 
mine his creed and over which he can no 
more exercise authority than he can exercise 
authority over the movements of the planets 
or the rotation of the earth. This view, 
though long familiar to thinkers, can hardly 
be said to have been popularized before the 
present century ;* and to its diffusion, as well 

* Its diffusion was greatly helped by Bailey's Essays on the 
Formation of Opinions, which were first published, I believe, 



114 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

as to other larger and more potent causes, we 
must ascribe the increasing spirit of toleration 
to which not only our literature but even 
our statute-book bears witness. 

But, though belief is involuntary, it will 
be objected, with a certain degree of plausi- 
bility, that the expression of that belief, and 
particularly the formal and written publica- 
tion, is a voluntary act, and consequently a 
responsible one. If I were arguing the ques- 
tion exhaustively, I should at the outset demur 
to this proposition, and should require it to be 
stated in more cautious and limited terms ; 
but, to save time, let us suppose it to be true, 
and let us inquire whether, if a man be respon- 
sible to himself for the publication of his 
opinions, it is right that he should be also 
held responsible by those to whom he offers 
them ? In other words, is it proper that law 
or public opinion should discourage an indi- 
vidual from, publishing sentiments which are 
hostile to the prevailing notions, and are 
considered by the rest of society to be false 
and mischievous ? 

in 1821 ; and being popularly written, as well as suitable to the 
age, have exercised considerable influence. 



MILL ON LIBEKTY. 115 

Upon this point, the arguments of Mr. 
Mill are so full and decisive that I despair of 
adding anything to them. It will be enough 
if I give a summary of the principal ones ; 
for it would be strange, indeed, if before many 
months are past, this noble treatise, so full of 
wisdom and of thought, is not in the hands of 
every one who cares for the future welfare 
of humanity, and whose ideas rise above the 
immediate interests of his own time. 

Those who hold that In individual ought 
to be discouraged from publishing a work con- 
taining heretical or irreligious opinions, must, 
of course, assume that such opinions are false ; 
since, in the present day, hardly any man 
would be so impudent as to propose that a 
true opinion should be stifled because it was 
unusual as well as true. "We are all agreed 
that truth is good ; or, at all events, those 
who are not agreed must be treated as persons 
beyond the pale of reason, and on whose 
obtuse understandings it would be idle to 
waste an argument. He who says that truth 
is not always to be told, and that it is not fit 
for all minds, is simply a defender of false- 
hood ; and we should take no notice of him, 



116 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

inasmuch, as the object of discussion being to 
destroy error, we cannot discuss with a man 
who deliberately affirms that error should be 
spared. 

We take, therefore, for granted that those 
who seek to prevent any opinion being laid 
before the world, do so for the sake of truth, 
and with a view to prevent the unwary from 
being led into error. The intention is good ; it 
remains for us to inquire how it operates. 

Now, in the firgt place, we can never be 
sure that the opinion of the majority is true. 
Nearly every opinion held by the majority 
was once confined to the minority. Every 
established religion was once a heresy. If 
the opinions of the majority had always pre- 
vailed, Christianity would have been extirpated 
as soon as Christ was murdered. If an age 
or a people assume that any notion they enter- 
tain is certainly right, they assume their own 
infallibility, and arrogantly claim for them- 
selves a prerogative which even the wisest of 
mankind never possess. To affirm that a 
doctrine is unquestionably revealed from above, 
is equally to affirm their own infallibility, 
since they affirm that they cannot be mistaken 






MILL ON LIBERTY. 117 

in believing it to be revealed. A man wlio 
is sure that his creed is true, is sure of his own 
infallibility, because he is sure that upon that 
point he has committed no error. Unless, 
therefore, we are prepared to claim, on our own 
behalf, an immunity from error, and an incapa- 
bility of being mistaken, w T hich transcend the 
limits of the human mind, we are bound not 
only to permit our opinions to be disputed, 
but to be grateful to those who will do so. 
For, as no one who is not absurdly and im- 
modestly confident of his own powers, can be 
sure that what he believes to be true is true, it 
will be his object, if he be an honest man, 
to rectify the errors he may have committed. 
But it is a matter of history that errors have 
only been rectified by two means ; namely, by 
experience and discussion. The use of discus- 
sion is to show how experience is to be inter- 
preted. Experience alone, has never improved 
either mankind or individuals. Experience, be- 
fore it can be available, must be sifted and test- 
ed. This is done by discussion, which brings 
out the meaning of experience, and enables us to 
apply the observations that have been made, 
and turn them to account. Human judgment 



118 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

owes its value solely to the fact that when it is 
wrong it is possible to set it right. Inasmuch, 
however, as it can only be set right by the con- 
flict and collision of hostile opinions, it is clear 
that when those opinions are smothered, and 
when that conflict is stopped, the means of cor- 
recting our judgment are gone, and hence the 
value of our judgment is destroyed. The 
more, therefore, that the majority discourage 
the opinions of the minority, the smaller is 
the chance of the majority holding accurate 
views. But if, instead of discouraging the 
opinions, they should suppress them, even that 
small chance is taken away, and society can 
have no option but to go on from bad to worse, 
its blunders becoming more inveterate and 
more mischievous, in proportion as that liberty 
of discussion which might have rectified them 
has been the longer withheld. 

Here we, as the advocates of liberty, might 
fairly close the argument, leaving our op- 
ponents in the dilemma of either asserting their 
own infallibility, or else of abandoning the 
idea of interfering with freedom of discussion. 
So complete, however, is our case, that we 
can actually afford to dispense with what has 



MILL OX LIBEKTY. 119 

been just stated, and support our views on 
other and totally different grounds. We will 
.concede to those who favour restriction, all 
the premises that they require. We will con- 
cede to them the strongest position that they 
can imagine, and we will take for granted that 
a nation has the means of knowing with ab- 
solute certainty that some of its opinions are 
right. We say, then, and w T e will prove, that, 
assuming these opinions to be true, it is ad- 
visable that they should be combated, and 
that their truth should be denied. That an 
opinion which is held by an immense majority, 
and which is moreover completely and un- 
qualifiedly true, ought to be contested, and 
that those who contest it do a public service, 
appears at first sight to be an untenable 
paradox. A paradox, indeed, it is, if by a 
paradox we mean an assertion not generally 
admitted ; but, so far from being untenable, 
it is a sound and wholesome doctrine, which, if 
it were adopted, would, to an extraordinary 
extent, facilitate the progress of society. 

Supposing any well-established opinion to 
be certainly true, the result of its not being 
vigorously attacked is, that it becomes more 



120 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

passive and inert than it would otherwise be. 
This, as Mr. Mill observes, has been exemplified 
in the history of Christianity. In the early 
Church, while Christianity was struggling 
against innumerable opponents, it displayed 
a life and an energy which diminished in pro- 
portion as the opposition was withdrawn 
When an enemy is at the gate, the garrison 
is alert. If the enemy retires, the alertness 
slackens ; and if he disappears altogether, 
nothing remains but the mere forms and duty 
of discipline, which, unenlivened by danger, 
grow torpid and mechanical. This is a law 
of the human mind, and is of universal ap- 
plication. Every religion, after being estab- 
lished, loses much of its vitality. Its doctrines 
being less questioned, it naturally happens that 
those who hold them, scrutinize them less 
closely, and therefore grasp them less firmly. 
Their wits being no longer sharpened by con- 
troversy, what was formerly a living truth 
dwindles into a dead dogma. The excitement 
of the battle being over, the weapons are laid 
aside ; they fall into disuse ; they grow rusty ; 
the skill and fire in the warrior are gone. It 
is amid the roar of the cannon, the flash of 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 121 

the bayonet, and the clang of the trumpet, 
that the forms of men dilate ; they swell with 
emotion; their bulk increases; their stature 
rises, and even small natures wax into great 
ones, able to do all and to dare all. 

So, indeed , it is. On any subj ect, universal ac- 
quiescence always engenders universal apathy. 
By a parity of reasoning, the greater the 
acquiescence the greater the apathy. All hail, 
therefore, to those who, by attacking a truth, 
prevent that truth from slumbering. All hail 
to those bold and fearless natures, the heretics 
and innovators of the day, who, rousing men 
out of their lazy sleep, sound in their ears 
the tocsin and the clarion, and force them to 
come forth that they may do battle for their 
creed. Of all evils, torpor is the most deadly. 
Give us paradox, give us error, give us what you 
will, so that you save us from stagnation. It is 
the cold spirit of routine which is the nightshade 
of our nature. It sits upon men like a blight, 
blunting their faculties, withering their pow- 
ers, and making them both unable and unwill- 
ing either to struggle for the truth, or to figure 
to themselves what it is that they really believe. 

See how this has acted, in regard to the 
6 



122 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

doctrines of the 'New Testament. "When those 
doctrines where first propounded, they were 
vigorously assailed, and therefore the early 
Christians clung to them, realized them, and 
bound them up in their hearts to an extent 
unparalleled in any subsequent age. Every 
Christian professes to believe that it is good 
to be ill-used and buffeted ; that wealth is an 
evil, because rich men cannot enter the king- 
dom of heaven ; that if your cloak is taken, 
you must give your coat also ; that if you are 
smitten on one cheek, you should turn round 
and offer the other. These and similar doc- 
trines, the early Christians not only professed, 
but acted up to and followed. The same 
doctrines are contained in our Bibles, read 
in our churches, and preached in our pulpits. 
Who is there that obeys them ? And what 
reason is there for this universal defection, 
beyond the fact that when Christianity was 
constantly assailed, those who received its 
tenets held them with a tenacity and saw 
them with a vividness which cannot be ex- 
pected in an age that sanctions them by gen- 
eral acquiescence ? Now, indeed, they arc 
not only acquiesced in, they are also watched 



MILL OX LIBERTY. 123 

over and sedulously protected. They are pro- 
tected by law, and by that public opinion 
which is infinitely more powerful than any 
law. Hence it is, that to them, men yield 
a cold and lifeless assent ; they hear them and 
they talk about them, but whoever was to 
obey them with that scrupulous fidelity which 
was formerly practised, would find to his cost 
how much he had mistaken his age, and how 
great is the difference, in vitality and in prac- 
tical effect, between doctrines which are gen- 
erally received and those which are fearlessly 
discussed. 

In proportion as knowledge has advanced, 
and habits of correct thinking been diffused, 
men have gradually approached towards these 
views of liberty, though Mr. Mill has been 
the first to bring them together in a thoroughly 
comprehensive spirit, and to concentrate in a 
single treatise all the arguments in their be- 
half. How everything has long tended to this 
result, must be known to whoever has studied 
the history of the English mind. Whatever 
may be the case respecting the alleged decline 
of individuality, and the increasing tyranny 
of custom, there can, at all events, be no doubt 



124 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

that, in religious matters, public opinion is 
constantly becoming more liberal. The legal 
penalties which, our ignorant and intolerant 
ancestors inflicted upon whoever differed from 
themselves, are now some of them repealed, 
and some of them obsolete. Not only have 
we ceased to murder or torture those who dis- 
agree with us, but, strange to say, we have 
even recognized their claim to political rights 
as well as to civil equality. The admission 
of the Jews into Parliament, that just and 
righteous measure, which was carried in the 
teeth of the most cherished and inveterate 
prejudice, is a striking proof of the force of 
the general movement ; as also is the rapidly 
increasing disposition to abolish oaths, and 
to do away in public life with every species 
of religious tests. Partly as cause, and partly 
as effect of all this, there never was a period 
in which so many bold and able attacks were 
made upon the prevailing theology, and in 
which so many heretical doctrines were pro- 
pounded, not only by laymen, but occasionally 
by ministers of the church, some of the most 
eminent of whom have, during the present 
generation, come forward to denounce the 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 125 

errors in their own system, and to point out 
the flaws in their own creed. The unorthodox 
character of physical science is equally no- 
torious ; and many of its professors do not 
scruple to impeach the truth of statements 
which are still held to be essential, and which, 
in other days, no one could have impugned 
without exposing himself to serious danger. 
In former times, such men would have been 
silenced or punished ; now, they are respected 
and valued ; their works are eagerly read, 
and the circle of their influence is steadily 
widening. According to the letter of our 
law-books, these y and similar publications, 
which fearless and inquisitive men are pour- 
ing into the public ear, are illegal, and Govern- 
ment has the power of prosecuting their 
authors. The state of opinion, however, is 
so improved, that such prosecutions would 
be fatal to any Government which instigated 
them. We have, therefore, every reason to 
congratulate ourselves on having outlived the 
reign of open persecution. We may fairly 
suppose that the cruelties which our fore- 
fathers committed in the name of religion, 
could not now be perpetrated, and that it 



126 MILL ON LIBEETY. 

would be impossible to' punish, a man merely 
because he expressed notions which the ma- 
jority considered to be profane and mis- 
chievous. 

Under these circumstances, and seeing that 
the practice of prosecuting men for uttering 
their sentiments on religious matters has been 
for many years discontinued, an attempt to 
revive that shameful custom would, if it were 
generally known, be at once scouted. It 
would be deemed unnatural as well as cruel : 
out of the ordinary course, and wholly un- 
suited to the humane and liberal notions of 
an age which seeks to relax penalties rather 
than to multiply them. As to the man who 
might be mad enough to make the attempt, 
we should look upon him in the light in 
which we should regard some noxious animal, 
which, being suddenly let loose, went about 
working harm, and undoing all the good that 
had been previously done. We should hold 
him to be a nuisance which it was our duty 
either to abate, or to warn people of. To us, 
he would be a sort of public enemy ; a 
disturber of human happiness ; a creature 
hostile to the human species. If he possessed 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 127 

authority, we should loathe him the more, 
as one who, instead of employing for the 
benefit of his country the power with which 
his country had entrusted him, used it to 
gratify his own malignant prejudices, or 
maybe to humour the spleen of some wretched 
and intolerant faction with which lie was 
connected. 

Inasmuch, therefore, as, in the present 
state of English society, any punishment in- 
flicted for the use of language which did not 
tend to break the public peace, and which 
was neither seditious in reference to the State, 
nor libellous in reference to individuals, would 
be simply a wanton cruelty, alien to the 
genius of our time, and capable of producing 
no effect beyond reviving intolerance, exas- 
perating the friends of liberty, and bringing 
the administration of justice into disrepute, 
it was with the greatest astonishment that 
I read in Mr. Mill's work that such a thing 
had occurred in this country, and at one of 
our asssizes, less than two years ago. Not- 
withstanding my knowledge of Mr. Mill's ac- 
curacy, I " thought that, in this instance, he 
must have been mistaken. I supposed that 



128 MILL ON LIBEETY. 

lie had not heard all the circumstances, and 
that the person punished had been guilty of 
some other offence. I could not believe that 
in the year 1857, there was a judge on the 
English bench who would sentence a poor 
man of irreproachable character, of industrious 
habits, and supporting his family by the sweat 
of his brow, to twenty-one months' imprison- 
ment, merely because he had uttered and 
written on a gate a few w T ords respecting 
Christianity. Even now, when I have carefully 
investigated the facts to which Mr. Mill only 
alludes, and have the documents before me, 
I can hardly bring myself to realize the events 
which have actually occurred, and which 
I will relate, in order that public opinion 
may take cognizance of a transaction which 
happened in a remote part of the kingdom, 
but which the general welfare requires to 
be bruited abroad, so that men may determine 
whether or not such things shall be allowed. 

In the summer of 1857, a poor man named 
Thomas Polley, was gaining his livelihood as 
a common labourer in Liskeard, in Cornwall, 
where he had been well known for several 
years, and had always borne a high character 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 129 

for honesty, industry, and sobriety. His 
habits were so eccentric, that his mind was 
justly reputed to be disordered ; and an ac- 
cident which happened to him about two 
years before this period, had evidently in- 
flicted some serious injury, as since then his 
demeanour had become more strange and 
excitable. Still, he was not only perfectly 
harmless, but was a very useful member of 
society, respected by his neighbours, and loved 
by his family, for whom he toiled with a 
zeal rare in his class, or indeed in any class. 
Among other hallucinations, he believed that 
the earth was a living animal, and, in his 
ordinary employment of well-sinking, he 
avoided digging too deeply, lest he should 
penetrate the skin of the earth, and wound 
some vital part. He also imagined that if 
he hurt the earth, the tides would cease to 
flow ; and that nothing being really mortal, 
whenever a child died it reappeared at the 
next birth in the same family. Holding all 
nature to be animated, he moreover fancied 
that this was in some way connected with 
the potato-rot, and, in the wildness of his 
vagaries, he did not hesitate to say, that if 



130 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

the ashes of burnt Bibles were strewed over 
the fields, the rot would cease. This was 
associated, in his mind, with a foolish dislike 
of the Bible itself, and an hostility against 
Christianity ; in reference, however, to which 
he could hurt no one, as not only was he 
very ignorant, but his neighbours, regarding 
him as crack-brained, were uninfluenced by 
him ; though in the other relations of life 
he was valued and respected by his employers, 
and indeed by all who were most acquainted 
with his disposition. 

This singular man, who was known by the 
additional peculiarity of wearing a long beard, 
wrote upon a gate a few very silly words ex- 
pressive of his opinion respecting the potato-rot 
and the Bible, and also of his hatred of Chris- 
tianity. For this, as well as for using lan- 
guage equally absurd, but which no one was 
obliged to listen to, and which certainly could 
influence no one, a clergyman in the neigh- 
bourhood lodged an information against him, 
and caused him to be summoned before a 
magistrate, who was likewise a clergyman. 
The magistrate, instead of pitying him or 
remonstrating with him, committed him for 



MILL ON LIBEKTY. 131 

trial and sent him to jail, At the next assizes, 
he was brought before the judge. He had 
no counsel to defend him, but the son of the 
judge acted as counsel to prosecute him. 
The father and the son performed their parts 
with zeal, and were perfectly successful. 
Under their auspices, Pooley was found guilty. 
'He was brought up for judgment. When 
addressed by the judge, his restless manner, 
his wild and incoherent speech, his disordered 
countenance and glaring eye, betokened too 
surely the disease of his mind. But neither 
this, nor the fact that he was ignorant, poor, 
and friendless, produced any effect upon that 
stony-hearted man who now held him in 
his gripe. He was sentenced to be imprisoned 
for a year and nine months. The interests 
of religion were vindicated. Christianity 
was protected, and her triumph assured, by 
dragging a poor, harmless and demented crea- 
ture from the bosom of his family, throwing 
him into jail, and leaving his wife and children 
without provision, either to starve or to beg. 

Before he had been many days in prison, 
{he insanity which was obvious at the time 
of his trial, ceased to lurk, and broke out into 



132 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

acts of violence. He grew worse ; and within 
a fortnight after the sentence had been pro- 
nounced he went mad, and it was found 
necessary to remove him from the jail to the 
County Lunatic Asylum. "While he was 
lying there, his misfortunes attracted the at- 
tention of a few high-minded and benevolent 
men, who exerted themselves to procure his 
pardon j so that, if he recovered, he might be 
restored to his family. This petition w^as 
refused. It was necessary to support the 
judge; and the petitioners were informed 
that if the miserable lunatic should regain 
his reason, he would be sent back to prison 
to undergo the rest of his sentence. This, 
in all probability, would have caused a relapse ; 
but little was thought of that ; and it was 
hoped that, as he was an obscure and humble 
man, the efforts made in his behalf would 
soon subside. Those, however, who had once 
interested themselves in such a case, were 
not likely to slacken their zeal. The cry 
grew hotter, and preparations were made for 
bringing the whole question before the country. 
Then it was that the authorities gave way. 
Happily for mankind, one vice is often bal- 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 133 

anced by another, and cruelty is corrected 
by cowardice. Tlie authors and abettors 
of this prodigious iniquity trembled at the 
risk they would run if the public feeling of 
this great country were roused. The result 
was, that the proceedings of the judge were 
rescinded, as far as possible, by a pardon 
being granted to Pooley less than five months 
after the sentence was pronounced. 

By this means, general exposure was 
avoided ; and perhaps that handful of noble- 
minded men who obtained the liberation of 
Pooley, w T ere right in letting the matter fall 
into oblivion after they had carried their 
point. Most of them were engaged in political 
or other practical affairs, and they were, there- 
fore, obliged to consider expediency as well 
as justice. But such is not the case with 
the historian of this sad event. No writer 
on important subjects has reason to expect 
that he can work real good, or that his words 
shall live, if he allows himself to be so 
trammelled by expediency as to postpone 
to it considerations of right, of justice, and 
of truth. A great crime has been committed, 
and the names of the criminals ought to be 



134 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

known. They should be in every one's month. 
They should be blazoned abroad, in order 
that the world may see that in a free country 
such things cannot be done with impunity. 
To discourage a repetition of the offence the 
offenders must be punished. And, surely, no 
punishment can be more severe than to pre- 
serve their names. Against them personally, 
I have nothing to object, for I have no 
knowledge of them. Individually, I can feel 
no animosity towards men who have done 
me no harm, and whom I have never seen. 
But they have violated principles dearer to 
me than any personal feeling, and in vindi- 
cation of which I would set all personal feel- 
ing at nought. Fortunate, indeed, it is for 
humanity that our minds are constructed after 
such a fashion as to make it impossible for 
us, by any effort of abstract reasoning, to 
consider oppression apart from the oppressor. 
We may abhor a speculative principle, and 
yet respect him who advocates it. This dis- 
tinction between the opinion and the person 
is, however, confined to the intellectual world, 
and does not extend to the practical. Such 
a separation cannot exist in regard to actual 



MILL OK LIBERTY. 135 

deeds of cruelty. In such, cases, our passions 
instruct our understanding. The same cause 
which excites our sympathy for the oppressed, 
stirs up our hatred of the oppressor. This 
is an instinct of our nature, and he who 
struggles against it does so to his own detri- 
ment. It belongs to the higher region of 
the mind ; it is not to be impeached by 
argument ; it cannot even be touched by it. 
Therefore it is, that when we hear that a poor, 
a defenceless, and a half-witted man, who 
had hurt no one, a kind father, an affectionate 
husband, whose private character was un- 
blemished, and whose integrity was beyond dis- 
pute, is suddenly thrown into prison, his family 
left to subsist on the precarious charity of stran- 
gers, he himself by this cruel treatment deprived 
of the little reason he possessed, then turned into 
a mad-house, and finally refused such scanty re- 
dress as might have been accorded him, a spirit 
of vehement indignation is excited, partly, in- 
deed, against a system under which such things 
can be done ; but still more against those 
who, in the pride of their power and wicked- 
ness of their hearts, put laws into execution 
which had long fallen iiito disuse, and which 



136 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

they were not bound to enforce, but of which, 
they availed themselves to crush the victim 
they held in their grasp. 

The prosecutor who lodged the information 
against Pooley, and had him brought before 
the magistrate, was the Kev. Paul Bush. 
The magistrate who received the information, 
and committed him for trial, was the Rev. 
James Glencross. The judge who passed the 
sentence which destroyed his reason and beg- 
gared his family, was Mr. Justice Coleridge. 

Of the two first, little need be said. It is 
to be hoped that their names will live, and 
that they will enjoy that sort of fame which 
they have amply earned. Perhaps, after all, 
we should rather blame the state of society 
which concedes power to such men, than 
wonder that having the power they should 
abuse it. But, with Mr. Justice Coleridge 
we have a different account to settle, and to 
him other language must be applied. That 
our judges should have great authority is 
unavoidable. To them, a wide and discre- 
tionary latitude is necessarily entrusted. Great 
confidence being reposed in them, they are 
bound by every possible principle which can 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 137 

actuate an honest man, to respect that con- 
fidence. They are bound to avoid not only 
injustice, but, so far as they can, the very 
appearance of injustice. Seeing, as they do, 
all classes of society, they are well aware that, 
among the lower ranks, there is a deep, 
though on the whole a diminishing, belief 
that the poor are ill-treated by the rich, and 
that even in the courts of law equal measure 
is not always meted out to both. An opinion 
of this sort is full of danger, and it is the 
more dangerous because it is not unfounded. 
The country magistrates are too often unfair in 
their decisions, and this will always be the 
case until greater publicity is given to their 
proceedings. But, from our superior judges 
we expect another sort of conduct. We ex- 
pect, and it must honestly be said we usually 
find, that they shall be above petty prejudices, 
or at all events, that whatever private opinions 
they may have, they shall not intrude those 
opinions into the sanctuary of justifce. Above 
all do we expect that they shall not ferret 
out some obsolete law for the purpose of op- 
pressing the poor, when they know right well 
that the anti-Christian sentiments which that 



138 MILL ON LIBERTY, 

law was intended to punish, are quite as com- 
mon among the upper classes as among the 
lower, and are participated in by many persons 
who enjoy the confidence of the country and 
to whom the highest offices are entrusted. 

That this is the case, was known in the year 
1857 to Mr. Justice Coleridge, just as it was 
then known, and is now known, to every 
one who mixes in the world. The charge, 
therefore, which I bring against this unjust 
and unrighteous judge is, that he passed a 
sentence of extreme severity upon a poor and 
friendless man in a remote part of the king- 
dom, where he might reasonably expect that 
his sentence would escape public animad- 
version ; that he did this by virtue of a law 
which had fallen into disuse, and was con- 
trary to the spirit of the age ;* and that 
he would not have dared to commit such an 
act, in the face of a London audience, and 
in the full light of the London press. Neither 

* Or rather by virtue of the cruel and persecuting maxims 
of our old Common Law, established at a period when it was a 
matter of religion to burn heretics and to drown witches. Why 
did not such a judge live three hundred years ago f He has 
fallen upon evil times and has come too late into the world. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 139 

would he, nor those who supported him, have 
treated in such a manner a person belonging 
to the upper classes. !No. They select the 
most inaccessible county in England, where 
the press is least active and the people are 
most illiterate, and there they pounce upon 
a defenceless man and make him the scape- 
goat. He is to be the victim whose vicarious 
sufferings may atone for the offences of more 
powerful unbelievers. Hardly a year goes 
by, without some writer of influence and 
ability attacking Christianity, and every such 
attack is punishable by law. "Why did not 
Mr. Justice Coleridge, and those who think 
like him, put the law into force against those 
writers ? Why do they not do it now ? Why 
do they not have the learned and the eminent 
indicted and thrown into prison ? Simply 
because they dare not. I defy them to it. 
They are afraid of the odium ; they tremble 
at the hostility they would incur and at the 
scorn which would be heaped upon them, 
both by their contemporaries and by posterity. 
Happily for mankind, literature is a real 
power, and tyranny ^ quakes at it. But to 
me it appears, that men of letters perform 



140 MILL ON LIBEKTY. 

the least part of their duty when they defend 
each other. It is their proper function, and 
it ought to be their glory, to defend the weak 
against the strong, and to uphold the poor 
against the rich. This should be their pride 
and their honour. I would it were known in 
every cottage, that the intellectual classes 
sympathize, not with the upper ranks, but 
with the lower. I would that we made the 
freedom of the people our first consideration. 
Then, indeed, would literature be the religion 
of liberty, and we, priests of the altar, minis- 
tering her sacred rites, might feel that we 
act in the purest spirit of our creed when 
we denounce tyranny in high places, when 
we chastise the insolence of office, and when w T e 
vindicate the cause of Thomas Pooley against 
Justice Coleridge. 

For my part, I can honestly say that I 
have nothing exaggerated, nor set down aught 
in malice. "What the verdict of public opinion 
may be, I cannot tell. I speak merely as a 
man of letters, and do not pretend to represent 
any class. I have no interest to advocate ; 1 
hold no brief ; I carry no man's proxy. But 
unless I altogether mistake the general feeling, 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 141 

it will be considered that a great crime has 
been committed ; that a knowledge of that 
crime has been too long hidden in a corner ; 
and that I have done something towards 
dragging the criminal from his covert, and 
letting in on him the full light of day. 

This gross iniquity is, no doubt, to be im- 
mediately ascribed to the cold heart and shal- 
low understanding of the judge by whom it 
was perpetrated. If, however, public opinion 
had been sufficiently enlightened, those evil 
qualities would have been restrained and ren- 
dered unable to work the mischief. There- 
fore it is, that the safest and most permanent 
remedy would be to diffuse sound notions 
respecting the liberty of speech and of publi- 
cation. It should be clearly understood that 
every man has an absolute and irrefragable 
right to treat any doctrine as he thinks proper ; 
either to argue against it, or to ridicule it. 
If his arguments are wrong, he can be re- 
futed ; if his ridicule is foolish, he can be 
out-ridiculed. To this, there can be no ex- 
ception. It matters not what the tenet may 
be, nor how dear it is to our feelings. Like 
all other opinions, it must take its chance ; 



142 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

it must be roughly used ; it must stand every 
test ; it must be thoroughly discussed and 
sifted. And we may rest assured that if it 
really be a great and valuable truth, such 
opposition will endear it -to us the more ; and 
that we shall cling to it the closer, in pro- 
portion as it is argued against, aspersed, and 
attempted to be overthrown. 

If I were asked for an instance of the ex- 
treme latitude to which such licence might 
be extended, I would take what, in my judg- 
ment, at least, is the most important of all 
doctrines, the doctrine of a future state. 
Strictly speaking, there is, in the present early 
condition of the human mind, no subject on 
which we can arrive at complete certainty ; 
but the belief in a future state approaches 
that certainty nearer than any other belief, 
and it is one which, if eradicated, would 
drive most of us to despair. On both these 
grounds, it stands alone. It is fortified by 
arguments far stronger than can be adduced 
in support of any other opinion ; and it is a 
supreme consolation to those who suffer afflic- 
tion, or smart under a sense of injustice. The 
attempts made to impugn it, have always 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 143 

seemed to me to be very weak, and to leave 
tlie real difficulties untouched. They are nega- 
tive arguments directed against affirmative 
ones. - But if, in transcendental inquiries, 
negative arguments are to satisfy us, how 
shall we escape from the reasonings of Berke- 
ley respecting the non-existence of the ma- 
terial world? Those reasonings have never 
been answered, and our knowledge must be 
infinitely more advanced than it now is, before 
they can be answered. They are far stronger 
than the arguments of the atheists ; and I 
cannot but wonder that they who reject a 
future state, should believe in the reality of 
the material world. Still, those who do reject 
it, are not only justified in openly denying it, 
but are bound to do so. Our first and para- 
mount duty is to be true to ourselves ; and no 
man is true to himself who fears to express 
his opinion. There is hardly any vice which 
so debases us in our own esteem, as moral 
cowardice. There is hardly any virtue which 
so elevates our character, as moral courage. 
Therefore it is, that the more unpopular a 
notion, the greater the merit of him who ad- 
vocates it, provided, of course, he does so in 

■ 






144 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

honesty and singleness of heart. On this ac- 
count, although I regard the expectation of 
another life as the prop and mainstay of 
mankind, and although I cannot help think- 
ing that they who reject it have taken an 
imperfect and uncomprehensive view, and have 
not covered the whole field of inquiry, I do 
strenuously maintain, that against it every 
species of attack is legitimate, and I feel as- 
sured that the more it is assailed, the more 
it will flourish, and the more vividly we shall 
realize its meaning, its depth, and its necessity. 
That many of the common arguments in 
favour of this great doctrine are unsound, 
might be easily shown ; but, until the entire 
subject is freely discussed, we shall never know 
how far they are unsound, and what part of 
them ought to be retained. If, for instance, 
we make our belief in it depend upon asser- 
tions contained in books regarded as sacred, 
it will follow that whenever those books lose 
their influence the doctrine will be in peril. 
The basis being impaired, the superstructure 
will tremble. It may well be that, in the 
inarch of ages, every definite and written creed 
now existing is destined to die out, and to be 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 145 

succeeded by better ones. The world has 
been the beginning of them, and we have no 
surety that it will not see the end of them. 
Everything which is essential to the human 
mind must survive all the shocks and vicissi- 
tudes of time ; but dogmas, which the mind 
once did without, cannot be essential to it. 
Perhaps, we have no right so to anticipate 
the judgment of our remotest posterity, as to 
affirm that any opinion is essential to all 
possible forms of civilization ; but, at all 
events, we have more reason to believe this 
of the doctrine of a future state than of any 
other conceivable idea. Let us then beware 
of endangering its stability by narrowing its 
foundation. Let us take heed how we rest it 
on the testimony of inspired writings, when 
we know that inspiration at one epoch is often 
different from inspiration at another. If Chris- 
tianity should ever perish, the age that loses 
it, will have reason to deplore the blindness 
of those who teach mankind to defend this 
glorious and consolatory tenet, not by general 
considerations of the fundamental properties 
of our common nature, but by traditions, as- 
sertions, and records, which do not bear the 
7 



146 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

stamp of universality, since in one state of 
society they are held to be true, and in another 
state of society they are held to be false. 

Of the same fluctuating and precarious 
character, is the argument drawn from the 
triumph of injustice in this world, and the 
consequent necessity of such unfairness being 
remedied in another lifer For, it admits of 
historical proof that, as civilization advances, 
the impunity and rewards of wickedness di- 
minish. In a barbarous state of society, virtue 
is invariably trampled upon, and nothing really 
succeeds except violence or fraud. In that 
stage of affairs, the worst criminals are the 
most prosperous men. But in every succeed- 
ing step of the great progress, injustice be- 
comes more hazardous ; force and rapine grow 
more unsafe ; precautions multiply ; the super- 
vision is keener ; tyranny and deceit are 
oftener detected. Being oftener detected, it 
is less profitable to practise them. In the 
same proportion, the rewards of integrity in- 
crease, and the prospects of virtue brighten. 
A large part of the power, the honour, and 
the fame formerly possessed by evil men 
is transferred to good men. Acts of injus- 



J hji , " ■ «-*-***■'■ U> 







MILL ON LIBERTY. 147 

tice which at an earlier period would have 
escaped attention, or, if known, would have 
excited no odium, are now chastised, not only 
by law, but also by public opinion. Indeed, 
so marked is this tendency, that many per- 
sons, by a singular confusion of thought, ac- 
tually persuade themselves that offences are 
increasing because we hear more of them, 
and punish them oftener ; not seeing that this 
merely proves that we note them more and 
hate them more. "We redouble our efforts 
against inj ustice, not on account of the spread 
of injustice, but on account of our better under- 
standing how to meet it, and being more de- 
termined to coerce it, No other age has ever 
cried out against it so loudly ; and yet, strange 
to say, this very proof of our superiority to 
all other ages is cited as evidence of our in- 
feriority. ThiSj I shall return to elsewhere ; 
my present object in mentioning it, is partly 
to check a prevailing error, but chiefly to 
indicate its connexion with the subject before 
us. Nothing is more certain than that, as 
society advances, the weak are better protected 
against the strong ; the honest against the 
dishonest ; and the just against the unjust. If, 



148 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

then, we adopt the popular argument in favour 
of another life, that injustice here, must be 
compensated hereafter, we are driven to the 
terrible conclusion that the same progress of 
civilization, which, in this world, heightens 
the penalties inflicted on injustice, would also 
lessen the need of future compensation, and 
thereby weaken the ground of our belief. The 
inference would be untrue, but it follows from 
the premises. To me it appears not only sad, 
but extremely pernicious, that on a topic of 
such surpassing interest, the understandings 
of men should be imposed upon by reasonings 
which are so shallow, that, if pushed to their 
legitimate consequence, they would defeat their 
own aim, because they would force us to 
assert that the more we improve in our moral 
conduct towards each other, the less we should 
care for a future and a better world. 

I have brought forward these views for 
the sake of justifying the general proposition 
maintained in this essay. For, it is evident 
that if the state of public opinion did not 
discourage a fearless investigation of these 
matters, and did not foolishly cast a slur upon 
those who attack doctrines which are dear 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 149 

to lis, the whole subject would be more thor- 
oughly understood, and such weak arguments 
as are commonly advanced would have been 
long since exploded. If they who deny the 
immortality of the soul, could, without the 
least opprobrium, state in the boldest man- 
ner all their objections, the advocates of the 
doctmne would be obliged to reconsider their 
own position, and to abandon its untenable 
points. By this means, that which I revere, 
and which an overwhelming majority of us 
revere, as a glorious truth, would be im- 
mensely strengthened. It would be strength- 
ened by being deprived of those sophistical 
arguments which are commonly urged in its 
favour, and which give to its enemies an in- 
calculable advantage. It would, moreover, 
be strengthened by that feeling of security 
which men have in their owi> convictions, 
when they know that everything is said 
against them which can be said, and that 
their opponents have a fair and liberal hear- 
ing. This begets a magnanimity, and a ra- 
tional confidence, which cannot otherwise be 
obtained. But, such results can never happen 
while we are so timid, or so dishonest, as to 



150 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

impute improper motives to those who assail 
our religious opinions. We may rely upon 
it that as long as we look upon an atheistical 
writer as a moral offender, or even as long as 
we glance at him with suspicion, atheism 
will remain a standing and a permanent dan- 
ger, because, skulking in hidden corners, it 
will use stratagems which their secresy will 
prevent us from baffling ; it will practise 
artifices to which the persecuted are forced 
to resort ; it will number its concealed prose- 
lytes to an extent of which only they who 
have studied this painful subject are aware ; 
and, above all, by enabling them to complain 
of the treatment to which they are exposed, 
it will excite the sympathy of many high and 
generous natures who, in an open and manly 
warfare, might strive against them, but who 
by a noble instinct, find themselves incapable 
of contending with any sect which is oppressed, 
maligned, or intimidated. 

Though this essay has been prolonged 
much beyond my original intention, I am un- 
willing to conclude it just at this point, when 
I have attacked arguments which support a 
doctrine that I cherish above all other doc- 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 151 

trines. It is, indeed, certain that he who 
destroys a feeble argument in favour of any 
truth, renders the geatest service to that 
truth, by obliging its advocates to produce 
a stronger one. Still, an idea will prevail 
among some persons that such service is in- 
sidious ; and that to expose the weak side of 
a cause, is likely to be the work, not of a 
friend but of an enemy in disguise. Partly, 
therefore, to prevent misinterpretation from 
those who are always ready to misinterpret, 
and partly for the satisfaction of more candid 
readers, I will venture to state w r hat I ap- 
prehend to be the safest and most impreg- 
nable ground on which the supporters of this 
great doctrine can take their stand. 

That ground is the universality of the 
affections ; the yearning of every mind to care 
for something out of itself. For, this is the 
very bond and seal of our common humanity ; 
it is the golden link which knits together and 
preserves the human species. It is in the 
need of loving and of being loved, that the 
highest instincts of our nature are first re- 
vealed. Not only is it found among the good 
and the virtuous, but experience proves that 



152 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

it is compatible with almost any amount of 
depravity, and with almost every form of vice. 
No other principle is so general or so power- 
ful. It exists in the most barbarous and fe- 
rocious states of society, and w r e know that 
even sanguinary and revolting crimes are 
often unable to efface it from the breast of the 
criminal. It warms the coldest temperament, 
and softens the hardest heart. However a 
character may be deteriorated and debased, 
this single passion is capable of redeeming it 
from utter defilement, and of rescuing it from 
the lowest depths. And if, from time to 
time, we hear of an apparently well attested 
case of its entire absence, we are irresistibly 
impelled to believe that, even in that mind, 
it lurks unseen ; that it is stunted, not de- 
stroyed ; that there is yet some nook or cranny 
in which it is buried ; that the avenues from 
without are not quite closed ; and that, in 
spite of adverse circumstances, the affections 
are not so dead but that it would be possible 
to rouse them from their torpor, and kindle 
them into life. 

Look now at the way in which this god- 
like and fundamental principle of our nature 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 153 

acts. As long as we are with those whom 
we love, and as long as the sense of security 
is unimpaired, we rejoice, and the remote 
consequences of our love are usually forgotten. 
Its fears and its risks are unheeded. But, 
when the dark day approaches, and the mo- 
ment of sorrow is at hand, other and yet es- 
sential parts of our affection come into play. 
And if, perchance, the struggle has been long 
and arduous ; if we have been tempted to 
cling to hope when hope should have been 
abandoned, so much the more are we at the 
last changed and humbled. To note the 
slow, but inevitable march of disease, to watch 
the enemy stealing in at the gate, to see the 
strength gradually waning, the limbs totter- 
ing more and more, the noble faculties dwind- 
ling by degrees, the eye paling and losing 
its lustre, the tongue faltering as it vainly tries 
to utter its words of endearment, the very 
lips hardly able to smile with their wonted 
tenderness ; — to see this, is hard indeed to 
bear, and many of the strongest natures have 
sunk under it. But when even this is gone ; 
when the very signs of life are mute ; when 
the last faint tie is severed, and there lies 



154: MILL ON LIBEKTY. 

before us nought save the shell and husk of 
what we loved too well, then truly, if we 
believed the separation were final, how could 
we stand up and live? We have staked our 
all upon a single cast, and lost the stake. 
There, where we have garnered up our hearts, 
and where our treasure is, thieves break in 
and spoil. Methinks, that in that moment 
of desolation, the best of us would succumb, 
but for the deep conviction that all is not 
really over ; that we have as yet only seen 
a part ; and that something remains behind. 
Something behind ; something which the eye 
of reason cannot discern, but on which the 
eye of affection is fixed. What is that, which, 
passing over us like a shadow, strains the 
aching vision as we gaze at it ? Whence 
comes that sense of mysterious companion- 
ship in the midst of solitude ; that ineffable 
feeling which cheers the afflicted ? Why is it 
that, at these times, our minds are thrown 
back on themselves, and, being so thrown, 
have a forecast of another and a higher 
state ? If this be a delusion, it is one which 
the affections have themselves created, and we 
must believe that the purest and noblest ele- 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 155 

ments of our nature conspire to deceive us. 
So surely as we lose what we love, so surely 
does hope mingle with grief. That if a man /(i ; 
stood alone, he would deem himself mortal, 
I can well imagine. Why not ? On account 
of his loneliness, his moral faculties would be 
undeveloped, and it is solely from them that 
•he could learn the doctrine of immortality. 
There is nothing, either in the mechanism of 
the material universe, or in the vast sweep 
and compass of science, which can teach it. 
The human intellect, glorious as it is, and in 
its own field almost omnipotent, knows it not. 
For, the province and function of the intellect 
is to take those steps, and to produce those im- 
provements, whether speculative or practical, 
which accelerate the march of nations, and to 
which we owe the august and imposing fabric 
of modern civilization. But this intellectual 
movement which determines the condition of 
man, does not apply with the same force to 
the condition of men. What is most potent 
in the mass, loses its supremacy in the unit. 
One law for the separate elements ; another 
law for the entire compound. The intellectual 
principle is conspicuous in regard to the race ; 



156 MILL ON LIBEETY. 

the moral principle in regard to the indi- 
vidual. And of all the moral sentiments which 
adorn and elevate the human character, the 
instinct of affection is surely the most lovely, 
the most powerful, and the most general. Un- 
less, therefore, we are prepared to assert that 
this, the fairest and choicest of our possessions, 
is of so delusive and fraudulent a character, 
that its dictates are not to be trusted, we can 
hardly avoid the conclusion, that, inasmuch 
as they are the same in all ages, with all 
degrees of knowledge, and with all varieties 
of religion, they bear upon their surface the 
impress of truth, and are at once the con- 
ditions and consequence of our being. 

It is, then, to that sense of immortality 
with which the affections inspire us, that I 
would appeal for the best proof of the reality 
of a future life. Other proofs perhaps there 
are, which it may be for other men or for 
other times to work out. But, before this 
can be done, the entire subject will have to 
be reopened, in order that it may be discussed 
with boldness and yet with calmness, which 
however cannot happen as long as a stigma 
rests on those who attack the belief; because 



MILL OK LIBEKTY. 157 

its assailants, being unfairly treated, will for 
the most part be either timid or passionate. 
How mischievous as well as how unjust such 
a stigma is, has, I trust, been made apparent, 
and to that part of the question I need not 
revert. One thing only I would repeat, be- 
cause I honestly believe it to be of the deepest 
importance. Most earnestly would I again 
urge upon those who cherish the doctrine of 
immortality, not to defend it, as they too often 
do, by arguments which have a basis smaller 
than the doctrine itself. I long to see this 
glorious tenet rescued from the jurisdiction 
of a narrow and sectarian theology, which, 
foolishly, ascribing to a single religion the 
possession of all truth, proclaims other re- 
ligions to be false, and debases the most 
magnificent topics by contracting them within 
the horizon of its own little vision. Every 
creed which has existed long and played a 
great part, contains a large amount of truth, 
or else it would not have retained its hold 
upon the human mind. To suppose, however, 
that any one of them contains the whole truth, 
is to suppose that as soon as that creed 
was enunciated the limits of inspiration were 









158 MILL ON LIBERTY* 

reached, and the power of inspiration exhaust- 
ed. For such a supposition we have no 
warrant. On the contrary, the history of man- 
kind, if compared in long periods, shows a 
very slow, but still a clearly marked, improve- 
ment in the character of successive creeds ; so 
that if we reason from the analogy of the past, 
we have a right to hope that the improve- 
ment will continue, and that subsequent creeds 
will surpass ours. Using the word religion 
in its ordinary sense, we find that the re- 
ligious opinions of men depend on an im- 
mense variety of circumstances which are con- 
stantly shifting. Hence it is, that whatever 
rests merely upon these opinions has in it 
something transient and mutable. Well, there- 
fore, may they who take a distant and com- 
prehensive view, be filled with dismay when 
they see a doctrine like the immortality of 
the soul defended in this manner. Such ad- 
vocates incur a heavy responsibility. They 
imperil their own cause ; they make the 
fundamental depend upon the casual ; they 
support what is permanent by what is ephem- 
eral ; and with their books, their dogmas, 
their traditions, their rituals, their records, 






MILL CXN" LIBERTY. 159 

and their other perishable contrivances, they 
seek to prove what was known to the world 
before these existed, and what, if these w r ere 
to die away, would still be known, and would 
remain the common heritage of the human 
species, and the consolation of myriads yet 

unborn. 

■ - ■ 

Note to p. 85. 

. 
"On 5e in rcop irpSrepop elprj^epcap ol \6yoi 9 Kal 8 tot, rovrcop, 

Kal irpos ravra, fxla y.ep irio'rts t) dia rrjs eiray(ayr)s. Ei ydp ris 

iirLCTKOiroirj eKacrrrjp tup irpordo'ecop Kal tup irpo^ArjfjLdroop • <j>ai- 

volt Up r) airb rod opov, t) airb rod t5iot>, r) airb rod (rvfjLfiefirjKoros 

yeyep-Qjxepf]. — Aristotelis Topicorum, lib. i. cap. vi., Lipsise, 

1832, p. 104. 

ALcopia/jLeucov 5e tovtwp, x? 7 ) SteAecflcu, TrSo'a rup \6ycop etdrj 
rwp SiaXeKTiK&p. y E<m 5e rb pep eirayooyT], rb 5e ffvTsJkoyivixSs. 
Kal cv?^\oyio'fJLbs fiep ri £o*tlp, efyrjrai irporepop. ^Eiraycoyr) 8e t) 
airb rSop KadeKao'ra eirl ret, kcl66Aov ecpofios • olop, el ecrri Kv^eppy)- 
rrjs 6 emo'rdfjLepos Kpdricrros, Kal r)ploxos • Kal o\cos earlp o 
emffrd(xepos irepl eKaarop b\picrros. — Aristot. Topic, lib. i. cap. 
x. p. 108. 

'Eap 5e firj riOy^ 8i' iirayciuyrjs Krjrrreop, rrporelpopra erzl rwp 
Kara fiepos epapriwv. *H yap Sta o'vWoyicr/j.ov, r) 5i* eirayooyrjs 
ras apayKaias Xrjirreop • r) ras fiep iirayccyy, ras de o-vWoyic/jiu * 
oaai 5e \iap irpocpape?s elo~i, Kal avras nporeipopra. 'ASrjXSrepop 
re yap ael ep rf) airoo'rdo'ei Kal r?) eirayooyy rb cvfi^ecrSfxepop * 
Kal &/j.a rb avras ras xpyvwovs irporelpai Kal (xr) dvpdfxepop e/cet- 



160 MILL ON LIBERTY. 

vcas Xafie?v 9 eroifiov. Tas 5e irapa ravras upr^i4vas \f]irr4ov fieu 
tovtcdv %ctpty • e/caar?? 5e w5e xPV°' T 4ov. 'Eirdyovra fitj/ airb 
toov KadeKaara cttI ra kolQoKov, Kal t&v yvoDpifioov iirl ra ftyveo- 
arra. — Aristot. Topic, lib. viii. cap. i. pp. 253, 254. 

J E7rel 5e iracra irporacris avXXoyiffTiK,)] 7) tovtwv tis iarTiv, e£ 
u>v 6 cvXXoyKrfxbs, tf twos tovtoov epefca • tirjXov §', orav krepov 
xdpw KapL^dvrjrai tw irXcicp ra ofxoia ipwrau • (t) yap 5t' iirayw- 
y?is, t) 5i* 6ijloi6t7]tos, ws iirl rh 7roXv to KaddXov Xa/jifidvovo~i •) 
to, fjihi/ Kadmao'Ta irdvTa OeTeov, av y aXyjOrj Kal evdo^a • — Aristot. 
Topic, lib. viii. cap. vii. p. 26 7» 

ttj fjikv ovv KaBoXov Oewpovfxev t& iv juepei, tt? 8e oliceta ovk 
'iff/xej/. "ClffT* €j/5e%6Tai Kal airaTaaOai Trepl avTa* 7rXrjv ovk 
ivavTiws, aXTC e%tiv [xkv tV Ka66Xov 9 airaTaadai Se ttj KaTa fi€- 
pos. — Aristotelis Analytica Prior a, lib. ii. cap. xxiii., Lipsiae, 
1832, p. 134. 

"Airaj/Ta yap TTicrTcvofieu fj fiia cvXXoyio'fiov, t) e| iirayooyrjs. 
y Eiraycayr) fxey ovv ecm Kal 6 ef iirayooyrjs cyXXoyiCfxhs to dta tov 
eTepov OaTepov &Kpov t$ fxicrcp o'vXXoyicrao'dai. — Aristot. Analyt. 
Prior., lib. ii. cap. xxv. p. 138. 

$apepbv §e Kal, oti, c* tis a?cr0r]O'is iKXiXonrev, avdyKrj, Kal 
emo'T'fjiuLTjv Tiva iKXeXonrei/ai, t)v abvvaTOV Xafieiv • efrrep fjLavdd- 
vofJL€i/ i) iiraywyy, t) aiToSe'it-ei. v Eo*Tt $' i) fxkv cnroSGiqis eK twv 
Ka66Xov • 7] S* iiraycoyi) e/c tuv KaTa pepos ' aBvvaTOv 5e to. KaQo- 
Xov Oe&priarai, el jjltj tit iiraycoyrjs • (eVel Kal tcl e£ a<paip4o , €ws 
XeySfxeva eorrai St* iTraycayrjs yvdopifxa, idv tis povXrjTai yvwpifxa 
iroieiv, otl virdpx^ eKaCTcp 7eyet evia, Kal et fiy] xa>pi(TTa io'Tty, y 
toiov dl eKaGTOv) litax^r\vai 5e [i\\ ix 0VTas c^a'drja'iv a&vvaTOV. 
Tiav yap KaOeKaCTOv i) afodrjo'is • ov yap zvo*4x eTaL Xafielv avT&v 
t)]v iirio'T'fjfJLrjj/ • ovTe yap iit Ttav kclBoXov &vev iTraywyrjs, ovtc 
Sia ttjs iTraycoyrjs &vev ttjs alaO'fjo'ecos. — Aristotelis Analytica 
Posteriora, lib. i. cap. xviii., Lipsiae, 1832, p. 117. 



MILL ON LIBERTY. 161 

Kal 7] [xey kol9o\ov voyjtt) • i) 5e Kara fi4pos ds ouaBt](nv re- 
\evra. — Analyt. Post., lib. i. cap. xxiv. p. 191. 

All that Aristotle knew of induction is contained in these 
passages. What he says in his Metaphysics is more vaguely ex- 
pressed, or perhaps the text is more corrupt. The early part of 
the first book may, however, be looked at. 



INFLUENCE OF WOMEN 



PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 



THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON THE 
PEOGEESS OF KNOWLEDGE.* 

The subject upon which I have undertaken 
to address you is the influence of women on the 
progress of knowledge, undoubtedly one of the 
most interesting questions that could be sub- 
mitted to any audience. Indeed, it is not only 
very interesting, it is also extremely important. 
When we see how knowledge has civilized 
mankind ; when we see how every great step 
in the march and advance of nations has been 
invariably preceded by a corresponding step in 
their knowledge ; when we moreover see, what 
is assuredly true, that women are constantly 
growing more influential, it becomes a matter 
of great moment that we should endeavour to 

* A Discourse delivered at the Royal Institution, on Friday, 
the 19th of March, 1858. 



166 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

ascertain the relation between their influence 
and our knowledge. On every side, in all so- 
cial phenomena, in the education of children, 
in the tone and spirit of literature, in the forms 
and usages of life ; nay, even in the proceed- 
ings of legislatures, in the history of statute- 
books, and in the decisions of magistrates, we 
find manifold proofs that women are gradually 
making their way, and slowly but surely win- 
ning for themselves a position superior to any 
they have hitherto attained. This is one of 
many peculiarities which distinguish modern 
civilization, and which show how essentially 
the most advanced countries are different from 
those that formerly flourished. Among the 
most celebrated nations of antiquity, women 
held a very subordinate place. The most 
splendid and durable monument of the Roman 
empire, and the noblest gift Rome has be- 
queathed to posterity, is her jurisprudence — a 
vast and harmonious system, worked out with 
consummate skill, and from which we derive 
our purest and largest notions of civil law. Yefc 
this, which, not to mention the immense sway 
it still exercises in France and Germany, has 
taught to our most enlightened lawyers their 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 167 

best lessons ; and which enabled Bracton 
among the earlier jurists, Somers, Hardwicke, 
Mansfield, and Stowell among the later, to 
soften by its refinement the rude maxims of our 
Saxon ancestors, and adjust the coarser princi- 
ples of the old Common Law to the actual exi- 
gencies of life ; this imperishable specimen of 
human sagacity is, strange to say, so grossly 
unjust towards women, that a great writer 
upon that code has well observed, that in it 
women are regarded not as persons, but as 
things ; so completely were they stripped of 
all their rights, and held in subjection by 
their proud and imperious masters. As to the 
other great nation of antiquity, we have only 
to open the literature of the ancient Greeks 
to see with what airs of superiority, with what 
serene and lofty contempt, and sometimes with 
what mocking and biting scorn, women were 
treated by that lively and ingenious people. 
Instead of valuing them as companions, they 
looked on thercy as toys. How little part 
women really took in the development of 
Greek civilization may be illustrated by the 
singular fact, that their influence, scanty as it 
was, did not reach its height in the most civil- 



> 



168 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

ized times, or in the most civilized regions. In 
modern Europe, the influence of women and 
the spread of civilization have been nearly 
commensurate, both advancing with almost 
equal speed. But if you compare the picture 
of Greek life in Homer with that to be found 
in Plato and his contemporaries, you will 
be struck by a totally opposite circumstance. 
Between Plato and Homer there intervened, 
according to the common reckoning, a period 
of at least four centuries, during which the 
Greeks made many notable improvements in 
the arts of life, and in various branches of spec- 
ulative and practical knowledge. So far, how- 
ever, from women participating in this move- 
ment, we find that, in the state of society 
exhibited by Plato and his contemporaries, 
they had evidently lost ground ; their in- 
fluence being less then than it was in the 
earlier and more barbarous period depicted 
by Homer. This fact illustrates ^the question 
in regard to time ; another fact illustrates it 
in regard to place. In Sparta, women pos- 
sessed more influence than they did in Athens ; 
although the Spartans were rude and igno- 
rant, the Athenians polite and accomplished. 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 169 

The causes of these inconsistencies would 
form a curious subject for investigation : but 
it is enough to call your attention to them 
as one of many proofs that the boasted civili- 
zations of antiquity were eminently one-sided, 
and that they fell because society did not 
advance in all its parts, but sacrificed some of 
its constituents in order to secure the prog- 
ress of others. 

In modern European society we have 
happily no instance of this sort ; and if we 
now inquire what the influence of women has 
been upon that society, every one will allow 
that on the whole it has been extremely bene- 
ficial. Their influence has prevented life from 
being too exclusively practical and selfish, and 
has saved it from degenerating into a dull and 
monotonous routine, by infusing into it an 
ideal and romantic element. It has softened 
the violence of men ; it has improved their 
manners,;, if has lessened their cruelty. Thus 
far, the gain is complete and undeniable. But 
if we ask what their influence has been, not 
on the general interests of society, but on one 
of those interests, namely, the progress of 
knowledge, the answer is not so obvious. For, 



170 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON ' 

to state the matter candidly, it mast be con- 
fessed that none of the greatest works which 
instruct and delight mankind, have been com- 
posed by women. In poetry, in painting, in 
sculpture, in music, the most exquisite produc- 
tions are the work of men. 'No woman, how- 
ever favourable her circumstances may have 
been, has made a discovery sufficiently impor- 
tant to mark an epoch in the annals of the 
human mind. These are facts which cannot 
be contested, and from them a very stringent 
and peremptory inference has been drawn. 
From them it has been inferred, and it is 
openly stated by eminent writers, that women 
have no concern with the highest forms of 
knowledge ; that such matters are altogether 
out of their reach ; that they should confine 
themselves to practical, moral, and domestic 
life, which it is their province to exalt and to 
beautify ; but that they can exercise no 
influence, direct or indirect, over the progress 
of knowledge, and that if they seek to exercise 
such influence, they will not only fail in their 
object, but will restrict the field of their really 
useful and legitimate activity. 

Now, I may as well state at once, and at 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 171 

the outset, that I have come here to-night with 
the intention of combating this proposition, 
which I hold to be unphilosophical and dan- 
gerous ; false in theory and pernicious in prac- 
tice. I believe, and I hope before we separate 
to convince you, that so far from women 
exercising little or no influence over the 
progress of knowledge, they are capable of 
exercising, and have actually exercised, an enor- 
mous influence ; that this influence is, in fact, 
so great that it is hardly possible to assign 
limits to it ; and that great as it is, it may 
with advantage be still further increased. I 
hope, moreover, to convince you that this 
influence has been exhibited not merely from 
time to time in rare, sudden, and transitory 
ebullitions, but that it acts by virtue of certain 
laws inherent to human nature ; and that 
although it works as an under-current below 
the surface, and is therefore invisible to hasty 
observers, it has already produced the most im- 
portant results, and has affected the shape, the 
character, and the amount of our knowledge. 

To clear up this matter, we must first of all 
understand what knowledge is. Some men 
who pride themselves on their common sense 



172 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

— and whenever a man boasts much about that, 
you may be pretty sure that he has very little 
sense, either common or uncommon — such 
men there are who will tell you that all knowl- 
edge consists of facts, that everything else is 
mere talk and theory, and that nothing has 
any value except facts. Those who speak so 
much of the value of facts may understand the 
meaning of fact, but they evidently do not 
understand the meaning of value. For, the 
value of a thing is not a property residing in 
that thing, nor is it a component ; but it is 
simply its relation to some other thing. We 
say, for instance, that a five-shilling piece has 
a certain value ; but the value does not reside 
in the coin. If it does, where is it ? Our 
senses cannot grasp value. We cannot see 
value, nor hear it, nor feel it, nor taste it, nor 
smell it. The value consists solely in the rela- 
tion which the five-shilling piece bears to 
something else. Just so in regard to facts. 
Facts, as facts, have no sort of value, but are 
simply a mass of idle lumber. The value of a 
fact is not an element or constituent of that 
fact, but is its relation to the total stock of our 
knowledge, either present or prospective. 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 173 

Facts, therefore, have merely a potential and, 
as it were, subsequent value, and the only 
advantage of possessing them is the possibility 
of drawing conclusions from them ; in other 
words, of rising to the idea, the principle, the 
law which governs them. Our knowledge is 
composed not of facts, but of the relations 
w T hich facts and ideas bear to themselves and 
to each other ; and real knowledge consists 
not in an acquaintance with facts, which only 
makes a pedant, but in the use of facts, which 
makes a philosopher. 

Looking at knowledge in this way, we shall 
find that it has three divisions, — Method, 
Science, and Art. Of method I will speak 
presently ; but I will first state the limits of 
the other two divisions. The immediate object 
of all art is either pleasure or utility : the 
immediate object of all science is solely truth. 
As art and science have different objects, so 
also have they different faculties. The faculty 
of art is to change events ; the faculty of 
science is to foresee them. The phenomena 
with which we deal are controlled by art ; 
they are predicted by science. The more 
complete a science is, the greater its power 



174 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

of prediction ; the more complete an art is, the 
greater its power of control. Astronomy, for 
instance, is called the queen of the sciences, be- 
cause it is the most advanced of all ; and the 
astronomer, while he abandons all hope of 
controlling or altering the phenomena, fre- 
quently knows what the phenomena will be 
years before they actually appear ; the extent 
of his foreknowledge proving the accuracy of 
his science. So, too, in the science of me- 
chanics, we predict that, certain circumstances 
being,present, certain results must follow ; and 
having done this, our science ceases. Our art 
then begins, and from that moment the object 
of utility and the faculty of control come into 
play ; so that in the art of mechanics, we alter 
what in the science of mechanics we were 
content to foresee. 

One of the most conspicuous tendencies 
of advancing civilization is to give a scientific 
basis to that faculty of control which is repre- 
sented by art, and thus afford fresh prominence 
to the faculty of prediction. In the earliest 
stage of society there are many arts, but no 
sciences. A little later, science begins to 
appear, and every subsequent step is marked 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 175 

by an increased desire to bring art under the 
dominion of science. To those who have stud- 
ied the history of the human mind, this tend- 
ency is so familiar that I need hardly stop to 
prove it. Perhaps the most remarkable instance 
is in the case of agriculture, which, for thou- 
sands of years, was a mere empirical art, resting 
on the traditional maxims of experience, but 
which, during the present century, chemists 
began to draw under their jurisdiction, so that 
the practical art of manuring the ground is 
explained by laws of physical science. Prob- 
ably the next step will be to bring another part 
of the art of agriculture under the dominion 
of meteorology, which will be done as soon as 
the conditions which govern the changes of the 
weather have been so generalized as to enable 
us to foretell what the weather will be. 

General reasoning, therefore, as well as the 
history of what has been actually done, jus- 
tify us in saying that the highest, the ripest, 
and the most important form of knowledge, is 
the scientific form of predicting consequences ; 
it is therefore to this form that I shall restrict 
the remainder of what I have to say to you 
respecting the influence of women. And the 



170 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

point which I shall attempt to prove is, that 
there is a natural, a leading, and probably an 
indestructible element, in the minds of women, 
which enables them, not indeed to make 
scientific discoveries, but to exercise the most 
momentous and salutary influence over the 
method by which discoveries are made. And 
as all questions concerning the philosophy of 
method lie at the very root of our knowledge, 
I will, in the first place, state, as succinctly as 
I am able, the only two methods by which 
we can arrive at truth. 

The scientific inquirer, properly so called, 
that is, he whose object is merely truth, has 
only two ways of attaining his result. He 
may proceed from the external world to the 
internal ; or he may begin with the internal 
and proceed to the external. In the former 
case he studies the facts presented to his 
senses, in order to arrive at a true idea of 
them : in the latter case he studies the ideas 
already in his mind, in order to explain the 
facts of which his senses are cognizant. If 
he begin with the facts his method is induc- 
tive ; if he begin with the ideas it is deductive. 
The inductive philosopher collects phenomena 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 177 

either by observation or by experiment, and 
from them rises to the general principle or 
law which explains and covers them. The 
deductive philosopher draws the principle from 
ideas already existing in his mind, and ex- 
plains the phenomena by descending on them, 
instead of rising from them. Several eminent 
thinkers have asserted that every idea is the 
result of induction, and that the axioms of 
geometry, for instance, are the product of early 
and unconscious induction. In the same way 
Mr. Mill, in his great work on Logic, affirms 
that all reasoning is in reality from particular 
to particular, and that the major premiss of 
every syllogism is merely a record and register 
of knowledge previously obtained. Whether 
this be true, or whether, as another school of 
thinkers asserts, we have ideas antecedent to 
experience, is a question which has been hotly 
disputed, but which I do not believe the actual 
resources of our knowledge can answer, and 
certainly I have no intention at present of 
making the attempt. It is enough to say 
that we call geometry a deductive science, 
because, even if its axioms are arrived at in- 
ductively, the inductive process is extremely 
ft* 



178 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

small, and we are unconscious of it ; while the 
deductive reasonings form the great mass and 
difficulty of the science. 

To bring this distinction home to you, I 
will illustrate it by a specimen of deductive 
and inductive investigation of the same sub- 
ject. Suppose a writer on what is termed 
social science, wishes to estimate the influence 
of different habits of thought on the average 
duration of life, and taking as an instance 
the opposite pursuits of poets and mathemati- 
cians, asks which of them live longest. How 
is he to solve this ? If he proceeds induc- 
tively he will first collect the facts, that is, he 
will ransack the biographies of poets and 
mathematicians in different ages, different cli- 
mates, and different states of society, so as 
to eliminate perturbations arising from cir- 
cumstances not connected with his subject. 
He will then throw the results into the statis- 
tical form of tables of mortality, and on com- 
paring them will find, that notwithstanding the 
immense variety of circumstances which he 
has investigated, there is a general average 
which constitutes an empirical law, and proves 
that mathematicians, as a body, are longer 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 179 

lived than poets. This is the inductive meth- 
od. On the other hand, the deductive in- 
quirer will arrive at precisely the same con- 
clusion by a totally different method. He will 
argue thus : poetry appeals to the imagination, 
mathematics to the understanding. To work 
the imagination is more exciting than to work 
the understanding, and what is habitually 
exciting is usually unhealthly. But what is 
usually unhealthy will teud to shorten life ; 
therefore poetry tends more than mathematics 
to shorten life ; therefore on the whole poets 
will die sooner than mathematicians. 

You now see the difference between induc- 
tion and deduction ; and you see, too, that 
both methods are valuable, and that any con- 
clusion must be greatly strengthened if we 
can reach it by two such different paths. To 
connect this with the question before us, I 
will endeavour to establish two propositions. 
First, That women naturally prefer the de- 
ductive method to the inductive. Secondly, 
That women by encouraging in men deductive 
habits of thought, have rendered an immense 
thougji unconscious service to the progress 
of knowledge, by preventing scientific investi- 



180 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

gators from being as exclusively inductive as 
they would otherwise be. 

In regard to women being by nature more 
deductive, and men more inductive, you will 
remember that induction assigns the first place 
to particular facts ; deduction to general prop- 
ositions or ideas. Now, there are several 
reasons why women prefer the deductive, 
and, if I may so say, ideal method. They 
are more emotional, more enthusiastic, and 
more imaginative than men ; they therefore 
live more in an ideal world ; while men, with 
their colder, harder, and austerer organiza- 
tions, are more practical and more under the 
dominion of facts, to which they consequently 
ascribe a higher importance. Another cir- 
cumstance which makes women more deductive, 
is that they possess more of what is called 
intuition. They cannot see so far as men can, 
but what they do see they see quicker. Hence, 
they are constantly tempted to grasp at once 
at an idea, and seek to solve a problem sud- 
denly, in contradistinction to the slower and 
more laborious ascent of the inductive investi- 
gator. * 

That women are more deductive than men, 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 181 

because they think quicker than men, is a 
proposition which some persons will not relish, 
and yet it may be proved in a variety of 
ways. Indeed, nothing could prevent its being 
universally admitted except the fact, that the 
remarkable rapidity with which women think 
is obscured by that miserable, that contempt- 
ible, that preposterous system, called their 
education, in which valuable things are care- 
fully kept from them, and trifling things 
carefully taught to them, until their fine and 
nimble minds are too often irretrievably in- 
jured. It is on this account, that in the 
lower classes the superior quickness of women 
is even more noticeable than in the upper; 
and an eminent physician, Dr. Currie, men- 
tions in one of his letters, that when a labourer 
and his wife came together to consult him, it 
was always from the woman that he gained 
the clearest and most precise information, the 
intellect of the man moving too slowly for 
his purpose. To this I may add another ob- 
servation which many travellers have made ; 
and which any one can verify : namely, that 
when you are in a foreign country, and speak- 
ing a foreign language, women will under- 



182 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

stand yon quicker than men will ; and that 
for the same reason, if you lose your way in 
a town abroad, it is always best to apply to 
a woman, because a man will show less readi- 
ness of apprehension. 

These, and other circumstances which might 
be adduced — such, for instance, as the insight 
into character possessed by women, and the 
fine tact for which they are remarkable — prove 
that they are more deductive than men, for 
two principal reasons. First, Because they 
are quicker than men. Secondly, Because, 
being more emotional and enthusiastic, they 
live in a more ideal world, and therefore 
prefer a method of inquiry which proceeds 
from ideas to facts ; leaving to men the op- 
posite method of proceeding from facts to 
ideas. 

My second proposition is, that women have 
rendered great though unconscious service to 
science, by encouraging and keeping alive 
this habit of deductive thought ; and that if 
it were not for them, scientific men would be 
much too inductive, and the progress of our 
knowledge would be hindered. There are 
many here who will not willingly admit this 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 183 

proposition, because in England, since the 
first half of the seventeenth century, the in- 
ductive method, as the means of arriving at 
physical truths, has been the object, not of 
rational admiration, but of a blind and servile 
worship ; and it is constantly said, that since 
the time of Bacon all great physical dis- 
coveries have been made by that process* If 
this be true, then of course the deductive 
habits of women must, in reference to the 
progress of knowledge, have done more harm 
than good. But it is not true. It is not 
true that the greatest modern discoveries 
have all been made by induction ; and the 
circumstance of its being believed to be true, 
is one of many proofs how much more suc- 
cessful Englishmen have been in making dis- 
coveries, than in investigating the principles 
according to which discoveries are made. 

The first instance I will give you of the 
triumph of the deductive method, is in the 
most important discovery yet made respect- 
ing the inorganic world ; I mean the discov- 
ery of the law of gravitation by Sir Isaac 
Newton. Several of Newton's other discov- 
eries were, no doubt, inductive, in so far as 



184 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

they merely assumed such provisional and 
tentative hypotheses as are always necessary 
to make experiments fruitful. But it is certain 
that his greatest discovery of all was deduc- 
tive, in the proper sense of the word ; that 
is to say, the process of reasoning from ideas 
was out of all proportion large, compared to 
the process of reasoning from facts. Five or 
six years after the accession of Charles II., 
Newton was sitting in a garden, when (you 
all know this part of the story) an apple fell 
from a tree. Whether he had been already 
musing respecting gravitation, or whether the 
fall of the apple directed his thoughts into 
that channel is uncertain, and Js immaterial 
to my present purpose, which is merely to 
indicate the course his mind actually took. 
His object was to discover some law, that is, 
rise to some higher truth respecting gravity 
than was previously known. Observe how 
he "went to work. He sat still where he was, 
and he thought. He did not get up to make 
experiments concerning gravitation, nor did 
he go home to consult observations which 
others had made, or to collate tables of ob- 
servations : he did not even continue to watch 



THE PKOGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 185 

the external world, but he sat, like a man 
entranced and enraptured, feeding on his own 
mind, and evolving idea after idea. He 
thought that if the apple had been on a higher 
tree, if it had been on the highest known tree, 
it would have equally fallen. Thus far, there 
was no reason to think that the power which 
made the apple fall was susceptible of diminu- 
tion ; and if it were not susceptible of diminu 
tion, why should it be susceptible of limit ? 
If it were unlimited and undiminished, it would 
extend above the earth ; it would reach the 
moon and keep her in her orbit. If the 
power which made the apple fall was actually 
able to control the moon, why should it stop 
there? "Why should not the planets also be 
controlled, and why should not they be forced 
to run their course by the necessity of gravi- 
tating towards the sun, just as the moon 
gravitated towards the earth ? His mind thus 
advancing from idea to idea, he was carried 
by imagination into the realms of space, and 
still sitting, neither experimenting nor observ- 
ing, but heedless of the operations of nature, 
he completed the most sublime and majestic 
speculation that iff ever entered into the heart 
of man to conceive. Owing to an inaccurate 



186 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

measurement of the diameter of the earth, the 
details which verified this stupendous con- 
ception were not completed till twenty years 
later, when Newton, still pursuing the same 
process, made a deductive application of the 
laws of Kepler : so that both in the beginning 
and in the end, the greatest discovery of the 
greatest natural philosopher the world has 
yet seen, was the fruit of the deductive 
method. See how small a part the senses 
played in that discovery ! It was the triumph 
of the idea ! It was the audacity of genius ! 
It was the outbreak of a mind so daring, and 
yet so subtle, that we have only Shakspeare's 
with which to compare it. To pretend, there- 
fore, as many have done, that the fall of the 
apple was the cause of the discovery, and then 
to adduce that as a confirmation of the idle 
and superficial saying ' that great events spring 
from little causes,' only shows how unable 
such writers are to appreciate what our mas- 
ters have done for us. 'No great event ever 
sprung, or ever will spring, from a little cause ; 
and this, the greatest of all discoveries, had 
a cause fully equal to the effect produced. 
The cause of the discovery of the law of gravi- 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE 187 

tation was not the fall of the apple, nor was 
it anything that occurred in the external world. 
The cause of the discovery of Newton was 
the mind of Newton himself. 

The next instance I will mention of the. 
successful employment of the a priori, or de- 
ductive method, concerns the mineral king- 
dom. If you take a crystallized substance as 
it is usually found in nature, nothing can at 
first sight appear more irregular and capri- 
cious. Even in its simplest form, the shape 
is so various as to be perplexing ; but natural 
crystals are generally met with, not in pri- 
mary forms, but in secondary ones, in which 
they have a singularly confused and uncouth 
aspect. These strange-looking bodies had long 
excited the attention of philosophers, who, 
after the approved inductive fashion, subject- 
ed them to all sorts of experiments ; divided 
them, broke them up, measured them, weighed 
them, analysed them, thrust them into crucibles, 
brought chemical agents to bear upon them, and 
did everything they could think of to worm out 
the secret of these crystals, and get at their 
mystery. Still, the mystery was not revealed 
to them. At lengthy late in the eighteenth 



188 THE INFLUENCE OF WOKEN ON 

century, a Frenchman named Haiiy, one of 
the most remarkable men of a remarkable age, 
made the discovery, and ascertained that these 
native crystals, irregular as they appear, are 
in truth perfectly regular, and that their sec- 
ondary forms deviate from their primary forms 
by a regular process of diminution ; that is, 
by what he termed laws of decrement — the 
principles of decrease being as unerring as 
those of increase. Now, I beg that you will 
particularly notice how this striking discovery 
was made. Haiiy was essentially a poet ; 
and his great delight was to wander in the 
Jardin du Hoi, observing nature, not as a 
physical philosopher, but as a poet. Though 
his understanding was strong, his imagination 
was stronger; and it was for the purpose of 
filling his mind with ideas of beauty that he 
directed his attention first to the vegetable 
kingdom, with its graceful forms and various 
hues. His poetic temperament luxuriating 
in such images of beauty, his mind became 
saturated with ideas of symmetry, and Cuvier 
assures us that it was in consequence of those 
ideas that he began to believe that the ap- 
parently irregular forms of native crystals 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 189 

were in reality regular ; in other words, that 
in them, too, there was a beauty — a hidden 
beauty — though the senses were unable to 
discern it. As soon as this idea was firmly 
implanted in his mind, at least half the dis- 
covery was made ; for he had got the key 
to it, and was on the right road, which others 
had missed because, while they approached 
minerals experimentally on the side of the 
senses, he approached them speculatively on 
the side of the idea. This is not a mere fanci- 
ful assertion of mine, since Hauy himself tells 
us, in his great work on Mineralogy, that he 
took, as his starting point, ideas of the sym- 
metry of form ; and that from those ideas 
he worked down deductively to his subject. 
It was in this way, and of course after a long 
series of subsequent labours, that he read the 
riddle which had baffled his able but unim- 
aginative predecessors. And there are two 
circumstances worthy of note, as confirming 
what I have said respecting the real history 
of this discovery. The first is, that although 
Haiiy is universally admitted to be the founder 
of the science, his means of observation were so 
rude that subsequent crystallographers declare 



190 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

that hardly any of his measurements of angles 
are correct ; as indeed is not surprising, in- 
asmuch as the goniometer which he employed 
was a very imperfect instrument ; and that 
of Wollaston, which acts by reflection, was 
not then invented. The other circumstance 
is, that the little mathematics he once knew 
he had forgotten amid his poetic and im- 
aginative pursuits ; so that, in working out 
the details of his own science, he was obliged, 
like a schoolboy, to learn the elements of geom- 
etry before he could prove to the world what 
he had already proved to himself, and could 
bring the laws of the science of form to bear 
upon the structure of the mineral kingdom. 

To these cases of the application of what 
may be termed the ideal method to the in- 
organic world, I will add another from the 
organic department of nature. Those among 
you who are interested in botany, are aware 
that the highest morphological generalization 
we possess respecting plants, is the great law 
of metamorphosis, according to which the 
stamens, pistils, corollas, bracts, petals, and 
so forth, of every plant, are simply modified 
leaves. It is now known that these various 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 191 

parts, different in shape, different in colomy 
and different in function, are successive stages 
of the leaf — epochs, as it were, of its history. 
The question naturally arises, who made this 
discovery ? Was it some inductive inves- 
tigator, who had spent years in experiments 
and minute observations of plants, and who, 
with indefatigable industry, had collected 
them, classified them, given them hard names, 
dried them, laid them up in his herbarium, 
that he might at leisure study their structure 
and rise to their laws ? Not so. The dis- 
covery was made by Gothe, the greatest poet 
Germany has produced, and one of the greatest 
the world has ever seen. And he made it, 
not in spite of being a poet, but because he 
was a poet. It was his brilliant imagination, 
his passion for beauty, and his exquisite con- 
ception of form, which supplied him with 
ideas, from which, reasoning deductively, he 
arrived at conclusions by descent, not by 
ascent. He stood on an eminence, and look- 
ing down from the heights generalized the 
law. Then he descended into the plains, and 
verified the idea. When the discovery was 
announced by Gothe, the botanists not only 



192 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

rejected it, but were filled with wrath at the 
notion of a poet invading their territory. 
What ! a man who made verses and wrote 
plays, a mere man of imagination, a poor 
creature who knew nothing of facts, who had 
not even used the microscope, who had made 
no great experiments on the growth of plants ; 
was he to enter the sacred precincts of physical 
science, and give himself out as a philosopher ? 
It was too absurd. But Gothe, who had 
thrown his idea upon the world, could afford 
to wait and bide his time. You know the 
result. The men of facts at length succumbed 
before the man of ideas ; the philosophers, 
even on their own ground, were beaten by 
the poet ; and this great discovery is now 
received and eagerly welcomed by those very 
persons who, if they had lived fifty years ago, 
would have treated it with scorn, and who 
even now still go on in their old routine, tell- 
ing us, in defiance of the history of our 
knowledge, that all physical discoveries are 
made by the Baconian method, and that any 
other method is unworthy the attention of 
sound and sensible thinkers. 

One more instance, and I have done with 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 193 

this part of the subject. The same great poet 
made another important physical discovery 
in precisely the same way. Gothe, strolling 
in a cemetery near Yenice, stumbled on a 
skull which was lying before him. Suddenly 
the idea flashed across his mind that the skull 
was composed of vertebrae ; in other words, 
that the bony covering of the head was simply 
an expansion of the bony covering of the spine. 
This luminous idea was afterwards adopted 
by Oken and a few other great naturalists in 
Germany and France, but it was not received 
in England till ten years ago, when Mr. Owen 
took it up, and in his very remarkable work 
on the Homologies of the Vertebrate Skeleton, 
showed its meaning and purpose as contribu- 
ting towards a general scheme of philosophic 
anatomy. That the discovery was made by 
Gothe late in the eighteenth century is cer- 
tain, and it is equally certain that for fifty 
years afterwards the English anatomists, with 
all their tools and all their dissections, ignored 
or despised that very discovery which they 
are now compelled to accept. 

You will particularly observe the circum- 
stances under which this discovery was made. 
9 



194 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

It was not made by some great surgeon, dissec- 
tor, or physician, but it was made by a great 
poet, and amidst scenes most likely to excite a 
poetic temperament. It was made in Venice, 
that land so calculated to fire the imagination 
of a poet ; the land of marvels, the land of poe- 
try and romance, the land of painting and of 
song. It w T as made, too, when Gothe, sur- 
rounded by the ashes of the dead, would be 
naturally impressed with those feelings of sol- 
emn awe, in whose presence the human under- 
standing, rebuked and abashed, becomes weak 
arid helpless, and leaves the imagination unfet- 
tered to wander in that ideal world which is its 
own peculiar abode, and from which it derives 
its highest aspirations. 

It has often seemed to me that there is a 
striking similarity between this event and one 
of the most beautiful episodes in the greatest 
production of the greatest man the world has 
ever possessed ; I mean Shakspeare's Hamlet. 
You remember that wonderful scene in the 
churchyard, when Hamlet walks in among the 
graves, where the brutal and ignorant clowns 
are singing and jeering and jesting over the re- 
mains of the dead. You remember how the 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 195 

fine imagination of the great Danish thinker is 
stirred by the spectacle, albeit he knows not 
yet that the grave which is being dug at his 
feet is destined to contain all that he holds 
dear upon earth. But though he wists not of 
this, he is moved like the great German poet, 
and he, like Gothe, takes up a skull, and his 
speculative faculties begin to work. Images of 
decay crowd on his mind as he thinks how the 
mighty are fallen and have passed away. In a 
moment, his imagination carries him back two 
thousand years, and he almost believes that the 
skull he holds in his hand is indeed the skull of 
Alexander, and in his mind's eye he contrasts 
the putrid bone with what it once contained, 
the brain of the scourge and conqueror of man- 
kind. Then it is that suddenly he, like Gothe, 
passes into an ideal physical world, and seizing 
the great doctrine of the indestructibility of 
matter, that doctrine which in his age it was 
difficult to grasp, he begins to show how, by a 
long series of successive changes, the head of 
Alexander might have been made to subserve 
the most ignoble purposes; the substance be- 
ing always metamorphosed, never destroyed. 
i Why,' asks Hamlet, ' why may not imagina- 



196 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

tion trace the noble dust of Alexander ? ' when, 
just as he is about to pursue this train of 
ideas, he is stopped by one of those men of 
facts, one of those practical ahd prosaic natures, 
who are always ready to impede the flight of 
genius. By his side stands the faithful, the 
affectionate, but the narrow-minded Horatio, 
who, looking upon all this as the dream of a 
distempered fancy, objects that, — ' 'twere to 
consider too curiously to consider so.' O ! what 
a picture ! what a contrast between Hamlet and 
Horatio ; between the idea and the sense ; be- 
tween the imagination and the understanding. 
' 'Twere to consider too curiously to consider 
so.' Even thus was Gothe troubled by his con- 
temporaries, and thus too often speculation is 
stopped, genius is chilled, and the play and 
swell of the human mind repressed, because 
ideas are made subordinate to facts, because 
the external is preferred to the internal, and 
because the Horatios of action discourage the 
Hamlets of thought. 

Much more could I have said to you on this 
subject, and gladly would I have enlarged on 
so fruitful a theme as the philosophy of scien- 
tific method ; a philosophy too much neglected 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 197 

in this country, but of the deepest interest to 
those who care to rise above the little instincts 
of the hour, and who love to inquire into the 
origin of our knowledge, and into the nature 
of the conditions under which that knowledge 
exists. But I fear that I have almost exhausted 
your patience in leading you into paths of 
thought which, not being familiar, must be 
somewhat difficult, and I can hardly hope 
that I have succeeded in making every point 
perfectly clear. Still, I do trust that there 
is no obscurity as to the general results. I 
trust that I have not altogether raised my 
voice in vain before this great assembly, and 
that I have done at least something towards 
vindicating the use in physical science of that 
deductive method which, during the last two 
centuries, Englishmen have unwisely despised. 
Not that I deny for a moment the immense 
value of the opposite or inductive method. 
Indeed, it is impossible for any one standing 
in this theatre to do so. It is impossible to 
forget that within the precincts of this build- 
ing, great secrets have been extorted from 
nature by induction alone. Under the shadow 
and protection of this noble Institution, men 



198 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

of real eminence, men of power and thought 
have, by a skilful employment of that method, 
made considerable additions to our knowledge, 
have earned for themselves the respect of 
their contemporaries, and well deserve the 
homage of posterity. To them all honour is 
due ; and I, for one, would say, let that honour 
be paid freely, ungrudgingly, and with an 
open and bounteous heart. But I venture 
to submit that all discoveries have not been 
made by this, their favourite process. I sub- 
mit there is a spiritual, a poetic, and for aught 
we know a spontaneous and uncaused element 
in the human mind, which ever and anon, 
suddenly and without warning, gives us a 
glimpse and a forecast of the future, and urges 
us to seize truth as it were by anticipation. 
In attacking the fortress, we may sometimes 
storm the citadel without stopping to sap the 
outworks. That great discoveries have been 
made in this way, the history of our knowledge 
decisively proves. And if, passing from what 
has been already accomplished, we look at 
what remains to be done, we shall find that 
the necessity of some such plan is likely to 
become more and more pressing. The field 



THE PKOGEESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 199 

of thought is rapidly widening, and as the 
horizon recedes on every side, it will soon be 
impossible for the mere logical operations of 
the understanding to cover the whole of that 
enormous and outlying domain. Already the 
division of labour has been pushed so far 
that we are in imminent danger of losing in 
comprehensiveness more than we gain in ac- 
curacy. In our pursuit after special truths, 
we run no small risk of dwarfing our own 
minds. By concentrating our attention we 
are apt to narrow our conceptions, and to 
miss those commanding views which would 
be attained by a wider though perhaps less 
minute survey. It is but too clear that some- 
thing of this sort has already happened, and 
that serious mischief has been wrought. For, 
look at the language and sentiments of those 
who profess to guide, and who in some meas- 
ure do guide, public opinion in the scientific 
world. According to their verdict, if a man 
does something specific and immediate, if, 
for instance, he discovers a new acid or a new 
salt, great admiration is excited, and his praise 
is loudly celebrated. But when a man like 
Gothe puts forth some vast and pregnant idea 



200 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

which is destined to revolutionize a whole 
department of inquiry, and by inaugurating 
a new train of thought to form an epoch in 
the history of the human mind ; if it happens, 
as is always the case, that certain facts con- 
tradict that view, then the so-called scientific 
men rise up in arms against the author of so 
daring an innovation ; a storm is raised about 
his head, he is denounced as a dreamer, an 
idle visionary, an interloper in matters which 
he has not studied with proper sobriety. 

Thus it is that great minds are depressed 
in order that little minds may be raised. This 
false standard of excellence has corrupted 
even our language and vitiated the ordinary 
forms of speech. Among us a theorist is 
actually a term of reproach, instead of being, 
as it ought to be, a term of honour ; for to 
theorize is the highest function of genius, and 
the greatest philosophers must always be the 
greatest theorists. "What makes all this the 
more serious is, that the further our knowledge 
advances, the greater will be the need of rising 
to transcendental views of the physical world. 
To the magnificent doctrine of the indestruc- 
tibility of matter, we are now adding the no 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 201 

less magnificent one of the indestructibility 
of force ; and we are beginning to perceive 
that, according to tlie ordinary scientific treat- 
ment, our investigations must be confined to 
questions of metamorphosis and of distribu- 
tion ; that the study of causes and of entities 
is forbidden to us ; and that we are limited to 
phenomena through which and above which we 
can never hope to pass. But unless I greatly err, 
there is something in us which craves for more 
than this. Surely we shall not always be 
satisfied, even in physical science, with the 
cheerless prospect of never reaching beyond 
the laws of co-existence and of sequence? 
Surely this is not the be-all and end-all of our 
knowledge. And yet, according to the strict 
canons of inductive logic, we can do no more. 
According to that method, this is the verge 
and confine of all. Happily, however, induc- 
tion is only one of our resources. Induction 
is indeed a mighty weapon laid up in the 
armoury of the human mind, and by its aid 
great deeds have been accomplished and noble 
conquests have been won. But in that armoury 
there is another weapon, I will not say of a 
stronger make, but certainly of a keener edge ; 
9'* 



202 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

and if that weapon had been oftener used 
during the present and preceding century, 
our knowledge would be far more advanced 
than it actually is. If the imagination had 
been more cultivated, if there had been a closer 
union between the spirit of poetry and the spirit 
of science, natural philosophy would have made 
greater progress, because natural philosophers 
would have taken a higher and more successful 
aim, and would have enlisted on their side a 
wider range of human sympathies. 

From this point of view you will see the 
incalculable service women have rendered to 
the progress of knowledge. Great and ex- 
clusive as is our passion for induction, it 
would, but for them, have been greater and 
more exclusive still. Empirical as we are, 
slaves as we are to the tyranny of facts, our 
slavery would, but for them, have been more 
complete and more ignominious. Their turn 
of thought, their habits of mind, their conver- 
sation, their influence, insensibly extending 
over the whole surface of society, and fre- 
quently penetrating its intimate structure, 
have, more than all other things put together, 
tended to raise us into an ideal world, lift us 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 203 

from the dust in which we are too prone to 
grovel, and develop in us those germs of im- 
agination which even the most sluggish and 
apathetic understandings in some degree pos- 
sess. The striking fact that most men of genius 
have had remarkable mothers, and that they 
have gained from their mothers far more than 
from their fathers ; this singular and unques- 
tionable fact can, I think, be best explained 
by the principles which I have laid down. 
Some, indeed, will tell you that this depends 
upon laws of the hereditary transmission of 
character from parent to child. But if this 
be the case, how comes it that while every 
one admits that remarkable men have usually 
remarkable mothers, it is not generally ad- 
mitted that remarkable men have usually 
remarkable fathers? If the intellect is be- 
queathed on one side, why is it not bequeathed 
on the other ? For my part, I greatly doubt 
whether the human mind is handed down in 
this way, like an heir-loom, from one gen- 
eration to another. I rather believe that, in 
regard to the relation between men of genius 
and their mothers, the really important events 
occur after birth, when the habits of thought 



204 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

peculiar to one sex act upon and improve the 
habits of thought peculiar to the other sex. 
Unconsciously, and from a very early period, 
there is established an intimate and endearing: 

r connexion between the deductive mind of the 
mother and the inductive mind of her son. 
The understanding of the boy, softened and yet 
elevated by the imagination of his mother, 
is saved from that degeneracy towards which 
the mere understanding - always inclines ; it 
is saved from being too cold, too matter-of-fact, 
too prosaic, and the different properties and 
functions of the mind are more harmoniously 
developed than would otherwise be practicable. 
7 Thus it is that by the mere play of the affec- 
/ tions the finished man is ripened and com- 
pleted. Thus it is that the most touching and 
the most sacred form of human love, the purest, 
the highest, and the holiest compact of which 
our nature is capable, becomes an engine for 
the advancement of knowledge and the dis- 
covery of truth. In after life other relations 
often arise by which the same process is. con- 
tinued. And notwithstanding a few excep- 
tions, we do undoubtedly find that the most 
truly eminent men have had not only their 



THE PEOGEESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 205 

affections, but also their intellect, greatly in- 
fluenced by women. I will go even farther ; 
and I will venture to say that those who have 
not undergone that influence betray a some- 
thing incomplete and mutilated. We detect 
even in their genius a certain frigidity of tone ; 
and we look in vain for that burning fire, 
that gushing and spontaneous nature with 
which our ideas of genius are indissolubly asso- 
ciated. Therefore it is that those who are most 
anxious that the boundaries of knowledge should 
be enlarged, ought to be most eager that the 
influence of women should be increased, in 
order that every resource of the human mind 
may be at once and quickly brought into play. 
For you may rely upon it that the time is 
approaching when all those resources will be 
needed, and will be taxed even to the utmost. 
We shall soon have on our hands work far 
more arduous than any we have yet accom- 
plished ; and we shall be encountered by diffi- 
culties the removal of which will require every 
sort of help, and every variety of power. As 
yet we are in the infancy of our knowledge. 
What we have done is but a speck compared 
to what remains to be done. For what is 



206 THE INFLTTENCE OF WOMEN ON 

there that we really know ? "We are too apt 
to speak as if we had penetrated into the sanc- 
tuary of truth and raised the veil of the god- 
dess, when in fact we are still standing, cow- 
ard-like, trembling before the vestibule, and 
not daring from very fear to cross the threshold 
of the temple. The highest of our so-called 
laws of nature are as yet purely empirical. 
You are startled by that assertion ; but it is 
literally true. Not one single physical discov- 
ery that has ever been made has been connected 
with the laws of the mind that made it ; and 
until that connexion is ascertained our knowl- 
edge has no sure basis. On the one side we 
have mind ; on the other side we have matter. 
These two principles are so interwoven, they 
so act upon and perturb each other, that we 
shall never really know the laws of one unless 
we also know the laws of both. Everything 
is essential ; everything hangs together, and 
forms part of one single scheme, one grand 
and complex plan, one gorgeous drama of 
which the universe is the theatre. They who 
discourse to you of the laws of nature as if 
those laws were binding on nature, or as if 
they formed a part of nature, deceive both you 



THE PEOGEESS OF E3T0WLEDGE. 207 

and themselves. The laws of nature have 
their sole seat, origin, and function in the 
human mind. They are simply the conditions 
under which the regularity of nature is recog- 
nised. They explain the external world, but 
they reside in the internal. As yet we know 
scarcely anything of the laws of mind, and 
therefore we know scarely anything of the 
laws of nature. Let us not be led away by 
vain and high-sounding words. "We talk of 
the law of gravitation, and yet we know not 
what gravitation is ; we talk of the conserva- 
tion of force and distribution of forces, and 
we know not what forces are ; we talk with 
complacent ignorance of the atomic arrange- 
ments of matter, and we neither know what 
atoms are nor what matter is ; we do not even 
know if matter, in the ordinary sense of the 
word, can be said to exist ; we have as yet 
only broken the first ground, we have but 
touched the crust and surface of things. Be- 
fore us and around us there is an immense and 
untrodden field, whose limits the eye vainly 
strives to define ; so completely are they lost 
in the dim and shadowy outline of the future. 
In that field, which we and our posterity have 



208 THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN ON 

yet to traverse, I firmly believe that the im- 
agination will effect quite as much as the 
understanding. Our poetry will have to re- 
inforce our logic, and we must feel as much as 
we must argue. Let us, then, hope that the 
imaginative and emotional minds of one sex 
will continue to accelerate the great progress, 
by acting upon and improving the colder and 
harder minds of the other sex. By this coali- 
tion, by this union of different faculties, differ- 
ent tastes, and different methods, we shall go 
on our way with the greater ease. A vast 
and splendid career lies before us, which it 
will take many ages to complete. We see 
looming in the distance a rich and goodly 
harvest, into which perchance some of us may 
yet live to thrust our sickle, but of which, 
reap what we may, the greatest crop of all 
must be reserved for our posterity. So far, 
however, from desponding, we ought to be 
sanguine. We have every reason to believe 
that when the human mind once steadily com- 
bines the whole of its powers, it will be more 
than a match for the difficulties presented by 
the external world. As we surpass our fathers, 
so will our children surpass us. We, waging 



THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. 209 

against the forces of nature what has too often 
been a precarious, unsteady, and unskilled, 
warfare, have never yet put forth the whole 
of our strength, and have never united all our 
faculties against our common foe. We, there- f 
fore, have been often worsted, and have sus- 
tained many and grievous reverses. But even 
so, such is the elasticity of the human mind, 
such is the energy of that immortal and god- 
like principle which lives within us, that we 
are baffled without being discouraged, our 
very defeats quicken our resources, and we 
may hope that our descendants, benefiting by 
our failure, will profit by our example, and 
that for them is reserved that last and decisive 
stage of the great conflict between Man and 
Nature, in which, advancing from success to 
success, fresh trophies will be constantly won, 
every struggle will issue in a conquest, and 
every battle end in a victory. 



THE END. 









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